


Salutations

by 007inahauntedhouse



Series: Love Letters To The Avengers [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Incredible Hulk - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:18:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/007inahauntedhouse/pseuds/007inahauntedhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Avengers/His Dark Materials Daemon crossover fic. The story follows the core group of the Avengers and their daemons, from the unique circumstances of their births through the Avengers movie and beyond. Or, how a group of heroes, lions, tigers and bears become a family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thor and Loki

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own the rights to nothing. 
> 
> Hello! This fic has been a labor of love for the past few months. I fully intend to finish, but fair warning... it will be slow going. Sorry! I do believe in happy endings though, so things work out for everyone in the end. 
> 
> I love all of the Avengers and wanted to explore and expand on the mythology of daemons. 
> 
> Scarletbluebird will also be writing stories in this Universe.

Odin and Frigga were married for five thousand years before they decided to have a child. He was King of Asgard, she the Queen, and it was one of their duties to provide the kingdom with an heir. Even a King there were some things out of his control though, and before Frigga could tell him the happy news Odin was called away to battle the Frost Giants. He did not much care for the primitive people of Earth, but he cared for Frost Giants even less so he led his warriors in a brutal, efficient defense of the humans.

The one fondness he had for Earth was that it gave him Huginn and Muninn, his two Raven daemons. Asgardians could not naturally see their daemons, it was only when they were on Earth that their daemons became visible to them. The best magicians on Asgard theorized that the sole appearance of daemons on Earth versus any of the other realms could be explained by Earth’s unique atmosphere acting as a sort of amplifying filter for soul energies. And the daemons of the Asgardians did not take the shapes of any beasts found on Earth; they were always creatures native to Asgard: a hardy Sæhrímnir, a blundering Billgesnipe, a fierce Lindworm… things that the simple people of Earth wrote their stories about. It had become a sort of fashion statement to some, or religious pilgrimage to others of his kind to journey to Earth and come back with a daemon. Because once the daemon materialized on Earth they could leave and travel the realms with their Asgardian. 

It was absolutely unheard of though for one person to have two daemons. Why Odin’s had materialized in a swirl of golden dust as two ravens defied even his wisdom. His wife teased him that it was because he had so many thoughts and memories that they could not be contained in a single familiar. They could range as far from him as he was willing to send them, like the daemons of the Witches that inhabited the north-most reaches of Earth. This race of women, along with some brave human warriors from the Viking clans, fought alongside the ranks of immortals to defend their home from the doomsday ice age that the Frost Giants promised in their quest for empire. Many Asgardians and Humans earned their way into the halls of Valhalla. 

Soon though they had driven the Frost Giants back into Jotunheim, Odin held the Casket of Ancient Winters in his hands and he was faced with a decision. The baby left on the altar in the high temple was scrawny for a Frost Giant, its blue skin pale and unhealthy looking. Despite how easily Odin had sent so many Frost Giants to Hel and how much he hated them for starting the war, he felt no rage in his heart for the little blue baby that was blinking innocent red eyes up at him. He picked him up and immediately the blue skin of the baby faded to the healthy pink of an Asgardian newborn. Odin could feel the potential strength of this one’s magic calling out to his own. 

Huginn and Muninn flew in to perch on the gardbraces of his shoulders. “I think we should take him… you want to, and it’s our due.” Huginn said in her soft voice.  
Cocking his head, the glowing blue light of the casket shone off of Muninn’s black eyes. “Remember when we saw the high priest fleeing here with the child, he was addressing him as Prince Loptr…”

“The heir of King Laufey.” Huginn finished. “All the more reason to take him. He’s the reason Asgard lost so many sons.”

The King sighed, he could still feel the pain and the blood dripping down his face from the ruined mass that was his eye, and he could not deny that he wanted a more personal recompense from Laufey for the pain he went through. 

Huginn clanged the side of Odin’s helmet with her sharp beak. “It does not matter the reasons for us taking him. You’ll raise him in love, as your own son. One day he could be the key to a lasting peace with the Frost Giants.”

“Frigga looked so bereft in her desire for a child before we left…” Muninn said, always with a feeling of a great, reaching distance behind his words. 

“The both of you don’t need to convince me. To leave him here in this broken place without a care taker…” he looked at the cleaved body of the high priest behind the altar, “would be to condemn him to death, and I could not return home to Frigga knowing I had allowed such an atrocity to occur.” 

“What should we call him? What should we call the son of two kings?” Huginn asked. 

“Father said that the Jotuns believed it to be unlucky for a Frost Giant child to be named without consulting the stars on the day of his birth.” Muninn reminded them. Though Odin had not been aware of his daemons when he was still young enough to be listening to stories from his father, they had always been with him. They were just not visible to him before he took his first step on Earth. 

“But this little one is not a Frost Giant. He’s an Asgardian, and I shall call him, Loki.” 

When he summoned the energy of the Bifrost and strode home at the head of a victorious column of his fellow warriors, he sent his daemons ahead to deliver bundled up Loki to Frigga. It was to his confusion when his Queen greeted him with two babes in her arms as she descended from her throne and kissed his cheek. She handed him a baby boy with hair the color of a blazing sun and his mother’s lightning-blue eyes; keeping for herself the sleeping black-haired youth with emerald eyes that his ravens had delivered to her. For one of the few times in his long existence the all-seeing All-Father was stunned into silence. Although he stood with his wife in the throne room, surrounded by his soldiers and thousands of Asgard’s citizens, he saw nothing but her and the two baby boys. 

“Welcome home, my love.” Frigga said to him. “I named him Thor.”

“That’s a strong name.” A King always had to say something at least.

She leaned in to whisper into his ear and he caught a whiff of her perfume for the first time in a year. “If I had known my brave husband were capable of giving me a son all by himself it would have saved me nine months of undignified waddling.” 

Matching his voice to her whisper he answered, “You waddled for all nine months?”

Frigga pulled back to look at his face, a wifely glare broiling. “Thor was a very big boy.” She smiled sweetly. “And besides, you should have some compassion for your wife who was carrying twins.” 

At times like these his wife terrified Odin. How she had solved such a delicate situation after only being aware of it for a scant amount of minutes while he was still trying to figure out how to explain it to her let alone the kingdom was stunning. 

Letting his wonder and admiration color his tone just enough for her to distinguish he took her free hand. “You are always a work of art, my Queen.” She smiled for him, and he knew that everything would work out.

Hand in hand they walked up the stairs at the end of the hall to their thrones. She sat with the babies upon hers where Huginn and Muninn perched upon the backrest, and King Odin turned to face the crowd. 

“Citizens of Asgard! This is a day of days, for we have returned with victorious honor! And the Kingdom has a bright future… my lovely Queen has gifted me with two sons, your Princes.” The jubilant roar of the crowd was deafening, and the blonde baby boy giggled happily.


	2. Steve & Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The early days of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who dropped kudos or comments! And I apologize for the long delay between updates.

The pain of childbirth was nothing compared to the fear that Sarah Rogers felt as she worked to deliver her first child a month and a half early.  Her daemon, Azteca- a canary the color of the sun- panted in time with her from where he perched on the rail of her bed. His claws clicked on the hard surface every time he shifted anxiously. As another contraction came on she gripped the metal until her fingers turned white and Azteca rubbed his soft breast against her knuckles.

Having been a nurse for eleven years now, she had left her naïve optimism back with the shattered bodies of the men she had treated during the Great War. There were boys her age, broken and pulled from the trenches, their daemons clinging to them with unblinking, haunted eyes. From the beginning Azteca seemed to know which patients would pull through and which were already beyond recovery. He described it as a sense of the air around a person deserting them as they died; as if they were leaking themselves through a pinhole into the vacuum beyond. It wasn’t noticeable to others that the end was near until the poor soul’s daemon began to lose cohesion. The people that railed against death, their daemons would dig claws or teeth in until they burst like a firework; those who left with a thankful sigh, their daemons would melt into a soft waterfall of particles. All of them dissipated into golden dust and winked out into the air eventually though.

15 year old Sarah had become a nurse at the proud encouragement of her mother and because she wanted to help people. Despite that calling however she was too scared and troubled by her daemon’s unusual foresight to be a comforting presence in the wards. All she could think about in those early days of her training were the stories her grandfather told of the soldiers in Europe keeping canaries in cages to warn them of mustard gas. Those thoughts would make her take Azteca off of his usual perch – the nest he made of her white hat – and cradle him protectively in her palms. As she gained experience though, and realized that none of these boys so much as flinched from a bad memory when they saw Azteca, she made it a point to sit with those who were about to pass on. No matter how many she sat with though, Azteca always sang for them and she always cried afterwards.

He sang for her now, but with quite a bit more desperation than usual. Sarah knew that the odds of survival for her child coming this prematurely were not in their favor.  There was only one other new mother in the maternity ward, but she gave birth to a robust baby boy several hours ago, so all of the concern was on Sarah. Following the rules of asepsis, Joseph Rogers was not allowed to be present to comfort his wife. She was surrounded by her friends and fellow nurses though, the ladies she ate lunch with every day during her break from the tuberculosis ward.

“Sarah, we can give you some ether if you would like the relief.” One of the nurses, Rose, offered with a gentle touch to her arm.

“No!” Sarah practically snarled as Azteca fluttered up in agitation with an echoing exclamation. If God forbid something happened, she wanted to have a clear mind with which to make decisions regarding her child.

Roses’ hen daemon clucked in consternation, but things progressed quickly from there and soon the doctor was holding a distressingly tiny, shockingly blonde baby boy. A baby boy that was not crying.

“No, no please God no” Sarah sobbed, sitting forward against the pain in her abdomen to watch the doctor and nurses try to animate the limp body. Azteca flew forward, but was caught quickly by a cat daemon before he could reach the baby.

The moment when a baby takes its first breath and cries is when their daemon begins to coalesce. Golden particles of dust that float towards each other in the air, as if drawn by magnetism, and eventually form into a solid newborn animal, just as tiny and defenseless as the human they belong to. They appear just as mysteriously as they disappear upon the death of their human, and that is all that is known on the subject. To loose one’s daemon meant death, and to never have one form were not conditions compatible with life to begin with.

A minute passed and no golden light surrounded the child. A collective shudder ran through the other daemons in the room, and the Doctor became rougher in his attempts to induce breathing. Sarah never took her eyes off her son even as the nurses removed the sheets from under her and worked to stop her bleeding.

There were no sounds in the ward other than the harsh slaps as the doctor spanked the child, until Azteca broke free and dove upon the baby. He pressed his face against the still damp neck and spread out his short wings like a necklace over the delicate collarbones.

With a cry of utter pity the doctor placed the baby and his petite shield upon the table and backed away, cradling his Jack Russell daemon in his arms. While it was not unheard of for the daemons of parents to comfort their children, touching someone else’s daemon was still taboo enough of a notion that everyone averted their eyes. The canary plead with the baby to open his eyes, and no one saw a tiny fawn stagger from the covers of the adjacent bed to the hard surface of the table.

Her tiny cloven hooves, no bigger around than a nickel, scuffed against the old wood as she wobbled forward with blinking determination and planted herself at the baby’s head. Azteca looked up in astonishment as she nudged at a spot in the air with her nose. Prodding and gently gusting air at it, words beyond her until her human learned to speak, she whickered in delight and nudged at nothing more urgently when a weak golden light began to appear. The fawn herself seemed to still have a residual birth glow around her, but it was clear to see a second spark glimmering into existence next to her. Everyone else was unabashedly watching the spectacle now, frozen with hope.

Tears rolled down Sarah’s cheeks when the smallest puppy she’d ever seen winked into solidity and her baby boy took an experimental hiccupping breath. He gave a soft cry and animation returned to the sterile room as the doctor and nurses rushed to perform their duties in the wake of this wonder. The puppy, eyes still shut to the world, pathetically attempted to crawl her way closer to the tiny blonde baby and was given a helping scoot on the rear by the velvet nose of the little deer.

“Mrs. Barnes…” Rose called and peeked around the thin curtain to the other recent mother, only to find her sound asleep with her son in her arms. Her son was wide awake though, peering huge brown eyes at the two infant daemons together on the table. The fawn looked over her shoulder and met his eyes. He gurgled happily and settled against his mother to sleep as the fawn laid down next to the puppy.

When the aftercare of mother and infant was taken care of Joseph Rogers was allowed in momentarily to see his son. The atmosphere in the room had turned to one of reverence, the energy of belief that even atheists can feel in an old church.

“It’s a miracle.” The doctor said to the new parents as he could offer no other explanation. “Your son will likely be sickly and weak- more susceptible to contagions from having being born this early, but… quite frankly he shouldn’t even be alive. Little James Barnes over there saved his life somehow.”

Joseph’s greyhound, Abaleigha, placed two graceful paws up on the table to get a look and cooed with affection. “Look at our son, Leigha. He’s perfect.” The first time father stroked the heads of his daemon and son.

“See all the color in his cheeks? He’s going to be an artist.” Leigha replied in her soft voice.

“Maybe, but I think he’ll be a musician, a good singing voice at least runs in the family.” Azteca countered, flying to perch on the greyhound’s narrow head.

“What are you going to name him?” The youngest of the nurses asked, her mink daemon looking at the sleeping baby adoringly.

The Rogers couple was falling into distraction from their daemons’ love-sick trance but Sarah answered “Steven. Our beloved, Steve Rogers.”

*******

                Sarah Rogers and Mindy Barnes became quick friends as they recovered together in the hospital. They discovered that they were neighbors, living only a few streets apart from each other in the same neighborhood in Brooklyn.  Steve and James, or Bucky as his mother had taken to calling him, slept mostly. In fact the one time that little Steve woke up other than to suckle was when the mothers tried to pry the two daemons apart. Steve howled and made such a racket that the two women shrugged helplessly at each other and had the nurses slide their beds together.

                Joseph Rogers spent every second he wasn’t at work in the hospital with his family. Rufus Barnes never came to visit his wife in the hospital. This only seemed to encourage Joseph to dote on Bucky like he was a blood relative as well. The tall man stood stooped from pain most days, his once quietly handsome face grotesquely disfigured from the blisters of the mustard gas. He entertained his captive audience of four with hilarious stories from the days at the navy yard.

                Staying in the hospital was expensive, the Rogers’s would not have been able to afford the care had Sarah not worked there and been loved by all the staff. When Bucky saved Steve’s life he and his mother earned the gratitude of the whole medical community and were also allowed to stay as long as they liked. The depression was an oppressive presence felt by everyone, but the proud parents were ready to lay the world at their sons’ feet.

                Eventually Mr. Barnes came for Mindy and Bucky. The way his gorilla daemon immediately went to aggressively snatch up Mindy’s little box turtle had Joseph leaping to his feet with Steve held in the crook of one arm.

                “She’s your wife, man!” He cried with Abaleigha a supporting shadow at his knee.

                Rufus turned to face Joseph slowly. “Exactly. She’s _my_ wife. So you can keep your freak show nose out of it.”

                Mindy was bone white with mortification from where she stood with her packed suitcase and she shook her head behind her husband’s back. Joseph looked down at the clear blue eyes of son, his now a chipmunk daemon curled on his chest with alert ears and sighed. Abaleigha shook her ears, chafing at the inaction. He didn’t say another word as they left, but Sarah made Mindy promise to come and visit them at home.

                When it was just the three of them he looked down at the remarkably expressive eyes of his son. “You’re going to be a better man than I one day, Steve Rogers.”

                Sarah smiled fondly at them. “That’s not possible, dear heart.”

*******

                The first few months at home were everything the young family could have hoped for. Azteca sang them all to sleep each night, and the cozy apartment was a home. Then Steve caught Scarlet Fever. Joseph started working double shifts at the navy yard to pay for the best treatments, but didn’t recognize his own failing health. Steve recovered from his efforts, but Joseph didn’t.  He succumbed to the cancerous aftereffects of mustard gas when Steve was ten months old.

                Sarah knew that she would never recover, but Azteca still sang to Steve every night. The single mother left Steve with Mindy and Bucky during the days, secure knowing that she would be back for her son before Rufus got home. Every day when she picked Steve up she invited the two of them over for dinner, but every day she fed her son alone.

                Her son became the center of her world. Steve began to babble, and then speak and the first word out of his mouth might have been gibberish but Azteca with his keen ear for beautiful things recognized it as the name of his daemon. Peggimut, who quickly became known as fearless Peggy much to Sarah’s consternation, favored dog forms but loved flying around the living room with the canary.

 Before she knew it she was sending him off to school in his short pants, Peggy snug in his shirt pocket as a dull yellow canary. She worried more than other mothers for her frail boy; treating broken arms and asthma attacks with homemade remedies and a plea to be more careful, but she couldn’t bring herself to hide him away from the world. Especially when he was constantly accompanied by such a solicitous, devoted protector of a best friend.

As far as Sarah was concerned, she came out of labor with twins. Bucky may have been a rascal, with a cocky grin attracting trouble but he always brought Steve home with a smile on his face and tales of high adventure. Bucky’s daemon Hibernamicus, shortened fondly to Hiberna, also favored dog forms. The four of them haunted the neighborhood streets organizing pickup baseball games with sticks and getting into mischief. Bucky was the physical protector of the duo, not because Steve was simply unable but because that’s just who he was. The first form his daemon took after coming into the world was a deer, something that could run on its own hours after birth- of course he’d be the kind to take care of his friends.

Just as it was Bucky’s nature to watch for threats to his best friend like a hawk, Steve learned quickly that his polite manner gave him an advantage in dealing with adults. His mother was his hero and his angel who always spoke to him as an adult and showed kindness to everyone. He was effortlessly his mother’s son.   

When Steve began asking about his father she answered truthfully: he came to America looking to work hard for a better life, he left America to fight for what he believed in, he returned a war hero, and there was no one in the Universe who had loved Steve more. She showed him the only picture she had of her love, from their wedding- the two of them arm in arm, smiling in the photo despite the trend at the time, and their daemons holding close to each other.

Steve and Peggy looked at the photo, and Peggy shimmed like a mirage before solidifying as a sleek young greyhound. She turned her big black eyes up at Azteca for approval, and as much as Sarah wanted to spare her son she could not help the sob that choked her without warning and turned into uncontrollable tears. Steve was aghast that he was the reason his mother was crying, and Peggy flitted from form to form- hummingbird, cat, gecko, dog, canary- inconsolably as Steve himself began to bawl. Sarah took him in her arms and rocked the both of them until they were naturally exhausted. Peggy settled in Sarah’s curly blonde hair as a butterfly with near translucent wings and without a second thought the mother gently plucked her from there and held her in her hands.

“I miss your father every moment of every day, Steve. But my heart is here with you, and I never want you and Peggy to feel anything less than whole and loved.” Azteca flew to Steve’s hand and groomed some of his bangs back into place with his beak.

Steve never spent a moment of his childhood wondering what it felt like to be loved.

*******

                Bucky would walk to school every morning with new bruises. Steve didn’t understand how someone could hurt anyone like that let alone a family member, but he oftentimes entertained grand notions of swooping in and being the hero himself for once. He never got the chance because Rufus Barnes got himself drunk and run over when the boys were thirteen.

                Mindy Barnes came home for dinner with them that night and stayed for the rest of her life.

                When the women decided that their sons were ready for more responsibility Sarah got them jobs running paper routes. Steve’s asthma kept him from actually running his like Bucky loved to, but his customers’ papers always arrived without any dog slobber on them… which is more than Bucky and Hiberna could every say for themselves.

                Steve came down with strep throat and then rheumatic fever, and Bucky took on his routes as well as his own with a worried smile. They couldn’t afford a bicycle like some of the other boys, but Hiberna was still young enough to change forms and it soon became common to see a dark haired youth riding a lanky white horse down the neighborhood streets of Brooklyn throwing newspapers so fast that they’d sound like birds slamming into the front door.

                With both women unable to stay home from work with Steve, Bucky would walk to school and immediately turn around and run back to sit with him. The four of them would squeeze onto Sarah’s bed together and Steve would be angry with Bucky for skipping school until Bucky distracted him.

                “When you get better we’re gonna go to the top of the Empire State Building!” Bucky exclaimed one fall morning as the radio buzzed in the background. “We’ll have to sneak in of course…” Hiberna added, as sly as a Dalmatian could look.

                Peggy, currently taken with house cat forms while Steve was laid up, narrowed her eyes at the comment.

                Leaning back on his elbows, Bucky considered the ceiling as if he were just picking out his words. “Well, I suppose if you didn’t want to do anything that might land ya in the Big House, Peggy could always switch to a condor and fly ya up. You’re skinny enough that she could do it!”

                Steve chuckled weakly and fidgeted to find a comfortable position to breathe in before Bucky hooked him under the arms and pulled him back to lean against his chest. “God, you’re all knees and elbows. Come on, you always breathe better sitting up anyway.” The skinnier boy settled down immediately as Hiberna picked Peggy up by the scruff, placed her between her forepaws and started grooming her.

                “Right, Mom. And I’m not gonna be the one to come bail you out when you get arrested on the top of the Empire State Building.” Steve rolled his eyes fondly and felt Peggy’s contentment give him some relief from the aching in his joints.

                “Hey, watch who you’re sassing buddy, or ya may not get your cut of the loot.” Bucky’s voice came from right behind Steve’s ear and a vine of black licorice appeared in front of his face.

                Candy during the Great Depression was a luxury item frivolous enough that most of the people from their neighborhood didn’t know what chocolate tasted like. Mrs. Rogers though made it a point to spoil the two of them each Christmas with a bar of chocolate and a vine of licorice each. The boys had quickly established that Bucky only cared about the chocolate and Steve preferred the licorice, so a trade was enacted each year. Sarah continued to give them one of each anyway.

                “Bucky!” Steve’s voice sounded pained, and Peggy squirmed her way away from Hiberna. “Our Moms are probably going to be standing in line for bread until dark tonight and you bought me candy!”

                “Hey, relax buddy. I did some extra shelving work for Mr. Goltzmann down the street. He paid me in food and let me take some of the expired stuff home for free. The bag’s out on the table. There’s some armored heifer, I think some canned beans--” He trailed off as Steve gingerly took the licorice from him.

                “I’m sorry. Thank you. I’m sorry, I’m just tired of being… weak and useless.” Steve started but was interrupted by Hiberna’s warning growl.

                “You are not weak and useless, Steve Rogers!” She growled, now a German shepherd with paws the size of saucers. “Do you think that we would all love something that was useless?” Steve could feel Bucky’s heart beating hard through their clothing with the emotion of his daemon’s words. Softer she added, “You’d do the same for us.”

                Bucky chuckled humorlessly. “We need to work on your self-confidence if you still don’t get that.”

                “Oh, we have plenty of confidence in us.” Peggy said primly, sitting regally on Bucky’s bent knee. The material of his pants so thin that he could almost feel the prick of cat claws through them.  

                “… We’re just not sure all the time why you do.” Steve finished.

                The sick boy felt a sigh on the back of his neck. “Because Steve, you’re one of the good guys… the best guy! You’re all bones but ya keep fightin’ and losing-”

                “… thanks…”

                “-Shut up. You keep fightin’ and losing, and even though you know you’re gonna lose, you just keep fighting anyway.”

                There was an awkward silence for a minute as no one looked each other in the eye.

                “Well?” Bucky finally asked with a nudge.

                “…You have the soul of a poet, Bucky.” Steve smiled.

                Bucky snorted, and Hiberna shrunk to a raven and clacked her beak at them.

                “Isn’t a raven a raven a little too tragic considering we should be celebrating the licorice feast that lay before us?” Peggy commented drolly.

                “Huh?”

                “You know, poetry, ravens… Poe?” Steve was only making Hiberna’s head cock more and more to the side. “You’ve never read The Raven?”

                Bucky shrugged. “Never was big on poetry.”

                Steve harrumphed. “Hiberna, would you bring me the chair please?”

                The raven landed as a Golden Retriever with a flying leap and placed the book next to Steve with care.

                “One of your Dad’s old ones?” Bucky asked, peering over his friend’s shoulder at the old, canvas covered volume. Steve had probably read all ten of the books in the living room a hundred times. The only one that had held Bucky’s attention through the first five pages was _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea._

                “Thank you. Yes, and it reads more like a horror story than poetry.” Steve paused. “I think you’ll like it.”

                “So read it to me.” Bucky settled in on the thin pillows and the morning passed by. Steve drank glasses of water that Hiberna kept refilling, and a whole can of thin chicken broth as he took his time reading the poem. Both daemons got swept up enough that they changed to ravens and jostled for perching space on top of the narrow door jam. Dry paint flakes cracked off and drifted down to the floor under their claws, but they were always a faithful chorus with their cries of “nevermore!” as he came to the end of each stanza.

                Weeks passed, Steve got better and Steve got worse. Sarah had doctors from the hospital come over to look at him, but when the first round of medication didn’t work on the skinny kid they simply couldn’t waste any more on him. As a nurse she understood, but as a mother she had never been angrier. Her dirty blonde hair began to show some white strands and the lines around her eyes more from worry and stress than laughter. Although there was still plenty of that too. The mothers, sons and daemons would all squeeze into the living room each evening and listen to the comedic variety shows of stars like Ed Cantor and Jack Pearl. Steve would always be stretched out on the couch with his head in his mother’s lap, Mindy in the armchair and Bucky laying on his stomach on the floor.   

Bucky kept up his routine of staying in with him except for when he had to go to one of his jobs. He looked at these outings only as essential supply and information gathering missions, otherwise he would have happily filled the role of Steve’s backrest full time despite how stir crazy it would have made him. Steve remarked to him once on how amazing it was that Bucky had two jobs, menial as they were, while most people were struggling to find one. Giving his friend a cheeky grin Bucky explained it away as him being unafraid to talk to anyone and people finding him irresistibly good-looking and likable. Steve called it ‘charisma,’ but Hiberna couldn’t even pronounce it.   

                “Mr. Goltzmann is worried about something going on in Europe.” Bucky said idly one afternoon as the rain poured down, pinging on the fire escape and gushing out of the gutters.

                “The Germans don’t like the Jews.” Steve said, knowledgeable from the newspapers Bucky always brought home but never read himself. It was like he treated Steve as a filter to tell him what was important enough to be worth his attention. If it wasn’t important to Steve, then it didn’t matter to him.  

                “Will there be another war?” Hiberna asked with her head resting on the windowsill. As an afterthought she blurred from a German Shepherd into a Great Dane.

                Steve shrugged and nibbled on his bologna sandwich. “If there is we’ll probably be too late for it.”

                Bucky frowned at this. “If we had the money we could get one of those synchronous electric clock hootenannys.”

                Peggy laughed indulgently. “Why in the world would you want one of those?”

                Both boys were smiling. “I dunno… just cause. Hey, have you drawn any more sketches of the Invisible Man?”

                With a groan Steve flipped through his sheets of loose paper full of sketches and finally held up a blank one. “Yup.”

                When Steve had become so sick that he had to be put on nearly constant bed rest Sarah Rogers had racked her mind for things to keep her son’s inquisitive mind occupied and had come up with drawing. Supplied with paper and pencils, Steve discovered one of his lifelong loves. Sarah didn’t like to think of her son as disabled, but the bottom line was that Steve faced a lot of physical challenges due to his week constitution. The upside of that in her opinion was that like many paraplegics who made up for their deficiencies with above average strength in their still functioning limbs, Steve had made up for his weak physiology by having a boundless imagination and being able to thinking quicker than everyone else.

                Steve’s health took a turn for the better and he rapidly regained his color and energy. Despite his bed ridden state, his poor health was never reflected in Peggy’s appearance – the cat’s fur was always glossy and smooth. He took his first walk around outside before Bucky had a chance to come home one morning, but Peggy as a cheetah was tall enough for him to lean on and it was something he wanted to do himself. They had made it an exhausting two blocks before they heard frantic footsteps quickly catching up to them and paused unnecessarily to let them catch up. Hiberna’s bloodhound ears were dragging on the ground her nose was so low following his scent. She barely pulled up before bowling into the back of Steve’s knees, but when she sat back she gave them both a paint peeling glare.

                As a cheetah Peggy was eye to eye with her but the glare was less than impressive with all of the baggy skin on her face and the sleepy eyed look. Bucky’s sprint came to a halt beside them and he puffed more from panic than lack of stamina. “What the hell, Steve? I told you to wait!”

                The blonde boy didn’t have an explanation based on any logic, and now that he thought about it, it was a boneheaded risk to take. He could have passed out in an alley and no one but Bucky and Hiberna would have found them for hours.

                “I knew you’d catch up.” He said with a shrug.

                Bucky was still angry though and he paced in a quick, tight line on the empty sidewalk. “You shouldn’t have just left like that!”

                The emotion in Bucky’s voice made Steve’s already guilty conscience flip flop in his empty stomach. He put the hand that wasn’t resting on Peggy’s head on his friend’s shoulder and Bucky jerked like he didn’t know which way he wanted to go.

                “I’m sorry I worried you. I just… had to do this by myself.” Steve offered helplessly with a self-depreciating little smile.

                Bucky took a deep, composing breath and finally nodded. “Ok Steve… just don’t leave me behind next time. I mean, you can do whatever you want by yourself of course, so long as I’m with you. I mean…”

                There was no way that Steve could have kept himself from giggling at his normally smooth-talking, slick friend verbally flailing his way through a conversation. Bucky laughed too and scratched the back of his neck looking chagrined.

                “You’re not gonna be the one who has trouble keeping up, Bucky.” Steve said without any self pity, to him by now it was just the truth. “Besides, it’s always gonna be us against the world.”

                If Steve had known how wretchedly accurate those words were about to be things may have turned out differently. As it was, the next week Steve was back at school and they easily slipped into their old routine, slowly getting the recovering boy back into form.

                That Friday the boys came home and were playing stickball in the street with the neighborhood gang, all rowdy taunts and rambunctious daemons, when Sarah Rogers walked to the steps of their building and sat down outside. She looked pale and shaky, holding Azteca in her hands like he was made of glass. Steve retrieved the last ball and threw it in, running to sit by his mother’s side.

                “What’s wrong, Mom?”

                She took a moment to answer, and her eyes filled with tears anyway. “You should call Bucky over, Steve.”

                Absolutely dreading what was coming Steve ran for his friend and brought him back to the lobby where his mother was now clutching her hands in the doorway. She motioned Bucky forward but Steve hung back a few paces, sensing this was not for him. He picked Peggy up and draped her around his neck instead. She may have been whispering soft words in his ear, but he didn’t hear her at all.

                Neither boy had to hear the words to respond to the pervasive sorrow that Sarah was embodying. There were only three people Sarah loved in the world anymore enough to cry over and two of them were standing with her.  And Sarah could not even bring herself to explain as she took Bucky in her arms and wept. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.” She murmured, only slightly tall enough to still be able to put her face in his hair. Hiberna changed from Boxer to common swift, flying to the potted plant in the corner of the dingy room to perch with Azteca.

                “… We were waiting in line to get bread and there was a housing riot in the building next door. I knew we should have left when the mob began to get violent – all their daemons were so angry, rabid – but we were so close to the front of the line…” Bucky looked like a marble statue, jaw clenched, muscles rigid, eyes dry and distant, unresponsive even as she hugged him. Steve wanted to reach out for something, but couldn’t even breathe.

                Sarah sniffled. “There was a speaker up on the fire escape, he was preaching about how paying rent was unfair for the times… there were so many people, and some of them started harassing the woman at the front of the line. She was just trying to get food for her family! Mindy, she went to help, but she fell… I lost sight of her, there were so many people even before the police came. She… I’m so sorry, Bucky. There was nothing I could do for her…she’s gone.” The swift flew down to become a grizzled-looking tall mutt by Bucky’s side.

                Slipping out of Steve’s hold Peggy leapt to the floor and wound between Hiberna’s legs as a Bengal Cat. “Hibernamicus…” she whispered softly, head tucked under the massive chest and body against the inside of a strong foreleg, purring slightly.

                It was Bucky who finally moved, still in a daze as he pulled back out of Sarah’s arms and she let him go reluctantly. “Where is she?” He murmured.

                “I think the police took her b-, her.” Azteca looked ready to fly to comfort boy and daemon again, but Bucky seemed to shake himself and managed an inarticulate cry of pain before turning to run out the door.

                Both Rogers’ took a step after him, as if jerked forward in the wake of his hurt. It was Steve who spoke though. “Mom, are you alright?”

                She nodded her head, tiredly. It was the first time Steve saw his mother actually look old. “I’m fine, love.” Azteca came down to briefly nuzzle at Peggy before flying up to his human’s shoulder. Sarah continued “You should go after him” at the same time that Steve said “I have to go after him, Mom.”

                Her son’s blue eyes were full of passionate concern.  Despite the tragedy of the day and the unfairness that seemed to come too frequently to her life over the shorter and shorter years, Sarah found herself unable to completely turn away from a world that still had lights as bright as Steve in it. No matter what else happened to her, no matter what else she had to sacrifice, that she was able to give Steve to the world made it all worth it. She could see the fight in him, Peggy always a fierce presence filled with conviction at his side, even when he so clearly couldn’t hope to protect anyone else. That’s what made him as beautiful as he was and Sarah was moved beyond words whenever she saw her fragile boy with the fire in his eyes.

                “Go.” She said without a smile. He squeezed her hand once and turned, his mother’s parting words following him down the stairs “And Steve, stay yourself. God, just… don’t let anything change you.”

                Steve looked confused at her abrupt dive into wistfulness, but promised easily. “Ok, Mom.”

                The late afternoon light of the street felt different than minutes before, the world was a surreal obstacle in his mission to follow his bereaved friend as they ran along. He managed to sprint about half the distance to the police station before he had to either stop or invite an asthma attack. Hands on his knees he sucked in painful lungs full of air as Peggy stalked in impatient circles around him. Finally, with a violent swirl of golden dust, she changed into a gigantic Siberian Tiger, crouched to crawl under his legs and scooped him up onto her back.

                “Taking too long, dearest. Hold on!” She said as Steve grabbed her round the neck and she sprang forward, easily carrying his skinny body at a run.

                People got out of the way of the seven hundred pound hunting cat as she galloped down the sidewalk, paws padding silently over the dirty stone. As they got into the busier part of town she outpaced driving cars and leapt over daemons trailing slowly behind their humans. Looking over his shoulder he shouted a “sorry” that was ripped away by the wind and leaned down by Peggy’s ear as she approached the street. “You’re clear.”

                She veered into the road without checking the traffic herself and startled several police officers with their dog daemons as she bounded up the six steps in front of the police station. Pulling open the door they were met with a scene of chaos inside the building. Police officers were attempting to corral what Steve assumed were the rioters from earlier and there were people or daemons on every available surface. Steve gave the area an assessing glance. “Can you smell him?” He asked his daemon. She switched to a Beagle and ventured inside, nose to the ground.

                Steve lunged forwards after her into the cacophony of voices. He grabbed the arm of a tall man in handcuffs who was trying to avoid a policeman and would have stepped back right onto Peggy. “Watch where you’re going!” He warned. Peggy spared a moment to shoot him a sweet look and then wound them on the most direct route to the front desk, Steve unafraid to gently direct people aside when they were in their way. The blonde boy could imagine his friend stalking through here minutes earlier, cutting a swathe through these people who were in some way responsible for the death of his mother. That made him angry enough that Peggy snapped at the next of the civilian daemons that crossed her path.

                Finally they made it up to the Sergeant at the desk. “He came here and then doubled back.” Peggy confirmed and leapt into his arms as a bobcat.

                “Excuse me, sir?” Steve asked, all earnest concern and no authority. The Sergeant with the frazzled looking Collie daemon didn’t glance in his direction as he continued to berate an underling who was half way across the room. Steve looked down at Peggy and she gave him an encouraging whisker twitch against his wrist.

                “Excuse me, SIR.” He tried, Peggy’s claws giving an agitated flex at the continued dismissal. She hated it when someone didn’t take them seriously.

                “SIR, I NEED TO REPORT A MURDER.” He said, making his voice so deep that it physically hurt his diaphragm to produce the sound. Peggy purred against his chest in gratification when the policeman and Collie whipped their heads around in unison to focus on them.

                “What was that now boy?” The man asked, whipping out a pencil and notebook. “Who was murdered?”

                “Mindy Barnes was murdered, sir.”

                The older man leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbows as he came down to Steve’s level.  “Wait a moment there son. Mindy Barnes? She was one of the ones from the riot, right?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We already know about her, there’s nothing to report. Get out of here.” He made a shooing motion with his hand.

                “Sir, wait. I’m just looking for another boy, Bucky Barnes, my... brother. I know he came here, just please tell me where he went.”

                The Sergeant looked skeptical, but he turned back for a moment with compassion at Steve’s plea.

                “Well, I’ll tell ya what I told him then, son. I’m real sorry for your loss. Her body’s down the street with the rest of ‘em at the police morgue.”

                “Thank you.” Steve said sincerely and turned to hurry out.

                “Son, them that did this to her… we’ll put ‘em away. That’s a promise.” The Sergeant added.

                Something about the weight of those words halted Steve in his tracks. So preoccupied with trying to help Bucky, Steve hadn’t given his own grief a second thought, let alone thinking about what would happen to those who were responsible for Mindy’s death. Now that it was mentioned though he felt a hot surge of anger fill his being that he only ever felt otherwise when he saw the older kids pushing the littler ones around on the street. This was the world of grown-ups though, and he and Bucky couldn’t charge to the rescue like they always did in the neighborhood.

                Steve had elevated his knowledge on the subject of justice from hard-learned lessons in the playgrounds by reading his father’s copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. When he finished the book he spoke about it so passionately that his mother had said that he seemed to have found his calling. He denied wanting to be a police officer or a judge, he was going to go to art school and become the best comic book artist there ever was, after all. But he still felt that niggling in his soul, and Peggy’s claws would grow sharper whenever they saw something that wasn’t right. Regardless of the situation they wound up sticking their noses in to try to help and usually wound up more black and blue for their efforts, but Steve had yet to meet a person in trouble who he could ignore.

                So, being too late to help kind-hearted Mindy did not sit well with him and all he said to the Sergeant in response as he kept walking was “good.”

                Peggy’s nose led them into the morgue and straight back out to the shore at Brighton Beach several miles away. Steve slipped off his tiger’s back, both of them panting at the exertion of the run, and went to sit with his friend on the low wall overlooking the water. It was just the two of them watching the clouds roll in from the ocean as the sun set. He leaned back against Peggy’s large form as she laid down behind him on the narrow wall, trying to perch like a housecat on a sill.

                Bucky didn’t look up to greet his friend. He just stared out at the sea, petting Hiberna’s head where it rested on his thigh, and sitting in a slouch so deep it made Steve’s back ache in sympathy. Under normal circumstances most people who even remotely knew Steve would describe him as a pretty shy guy, but the exception to most of the rules governing Steve Rogers was almost always Bucky Barnes. Whereas with other people, especially dames, Steve would stumble over his words sometimes – he always knew what he wanted to say around Bucky.

                “I’m sorry, Bucky.” He made no move to touch his friend, but he could see the dried tear tracks on his face out of the corner of his eye. Everything was silent for a while except for the crashing of the waves.

                “She didn’t deserve any of what happened to her. She deserved to be happy.” Bucky finally said.

                The reply came to Steve immediately, but the moment seemed to call for a more thoughtful silence so he waited before saying “But she was happy. You made her happy. We did. We were a family.” Bucky didn’t reply so Steve soldiered on. “She’d want you to be happy.”

                “… I’m an orphan, Steve.”

                Steve looked at his friend incredulously. “Don’t be stupid, you’ve still got us.”

                “It doesn’t feel real. Feels like when we go home she’ll still be there, making sandwiches or something, I dunno…”

                “Everything she did, she did for you, Bucky. The best way to honor her would be to just live your life.”

                Hiberna fidgeted and Bucky sighed. “I don’t want to think about any of it anymore.” He said. More quietly Hiberna added “Steve, would you talk to us?”

                “About what?” Steve asked, tamping down his eagerness to help.

                “Anything.” The mutt replied. “We just feel alone right now. We know that we’re not, but we feel that way anyway. So, just talk to us.”

                Inspiration abandoned Steve and he couldn’t think of a single thing that wasn’t about death or how sorry he was. Not uncommonly, Peggy saved him. “The sea is the only embodiment of a supernatural and wonderful existence. It is nothing but love and emotion; it is the living infinite…” and she went on to quote every line she could remember from _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea_. Steve took over when her voice became gravelly, and the four of them walked home well after the sun set.


	3. Tony Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The early days of Tony Stark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony's daemon in this is Pepper Potts. I love her character and wanted her to be in more of the story. She is essentially Tony's conscience and soul anyway, so it's just literal here. Oh damn, and I forgot to mention from Chapter 2 that Peggy is Steve's daemon as well. Jeeze, I'm bad at this. Sorry!
> 
> I tried to keep Peggy and Pepper's personalities the same since they are already such perfect compliments to Steve and Tony. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Hopefully this makes sense.

 

                Saying that Howard Stark was a bit of a mess after the war would have been tantamount to saying that Hitler made a bit of a mess of Europe. After making sure that the surviving Commandos were as well taken care of as possible, he told military intelligence and his company shareholders to shove it and committed himself to a one man crusade at the top of the world.

                For sixteen months he and Hearkena, his black Balinese cat daemon, lived on a tall metal boat in the frigid north searching for the wreckage of Steve’s downed plane. Anyone who knew the inventor before the war would have sworn that the extremely social man would not have lasted long with only a handful of sailors to interact with, but Howard would sooner have thrown himself into the icy depths than return to the empty life of a billionaire playboy. He didn’t miss the girls, he didn’t miss the prestige, and he didn’t miss his workshop. Hearkena needed the isolation, and Howard didn’t know what he needed so he let her make the decisions. Most days though, she draped herself around his neck like a scarf and didn’t say a word. He’d never felt so lost.

                He hired a professional ship wreck diver with an orca daemon, and a retired fisherman from Greenland whose narwhal daemon could range miles from him. The crew ran like one of his well oiled machines and there was little for Stark to do except coordinate the search grid.

                “This feels less like a search and more like a vigil.” Hearkena remarked from the pillow beside him one night as he laid awake thinking of nothing. It was the first time she’d spoken in a week.

                “Are you looking for an argument?” Howard replied eventually. There was nothing else to say.

                The next day Gjerta the narwhal found Hydra’s power cube at the bottom of the ocean and Howard felt almost human again. He felt the cold, moist air, and his daemon’s soft fur against his face and he felt invigorated. Two weeks of searching out from that point and finding nothing brought Howard to his low and he left the damned cube at the bottom of the ocean because some things weren’t meant to be found… and because he couldn’t be bothered.

                In the summer he had supplies flown in to Thule Air Base at the northeast corner of Greenland. The Danish personnel manning the station didn’t have a bar yet, so Howard built them one and had it supplied for years to come. That was where he spent his time as the ship resupplied.

                Hearkena lay limply on the bar top as Howard downed another shot of whiskey. As thrilled as the locals were with their generous new watering hole they had learned that it was best to leave ‘the sad cat-man’, as he became known in their broken English, alone. Besides the ever present cold wind, even on the longest day of summer, he was alone- but not quite drunk enough to not be surprised by the dainty knock on the thin metal door. He looked at his daemon for confirmation that he wasn’t so far gone that he was hearing things and she shrugged an elegant shoulder.

                “What?” He called, wincing as his voice stuck with gravel. The soft tap came again. “Good lord, come in!” Impatiently he staggered off the bar stool, impacted the door enough to open it and came nose to nose with a polar bear.

                For all of Howard Stark’s imagination, he had never once considered that he would meet his end only slightly tipsy and eaten by a polar bear. Hearkena managed to convey an impressive level of concern by sitting up and taking in the situation sphinx-like. After a polite moment of silence the polar bear smiled at him.

                “Hi-de-ho! Howard Stark?” She asked in a lilting voice just touched by age and amusement. He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement, mouth set in a slack line under his mustache. She blinked in what could have been read as agitation, but she was a bear so it was harder to tell. “You rationed, sugar? Cause you’re a drooly.”

                Hearkena leapt across the gap to land on Howard’s shoulder without so much as a jostle and addressed the newcomer directly. “Please excuse my human, he’s not usually so deficient in social graces.” Howard looked at Hearkena, scandalized, and she rolled her yellow eyes. “Come, love, she’s a Panserbjørne. It’s perfectly acceptable for me to be talking to her, and since when do you care anyway?”

                “Ye- yes. Yes. I’m Howard Stark.”

                “Sometimes.” Hearkena added with no inflection, but the bear had no pithy comment to that.

                “Are you going to invite me inside?”

                “If you can fit inside, I don’t see how I could stop you.” Howard snapped.

                “Oh, you’re just a gas.” The bear said as she slipped in a shoulder at a time. “My name is Annemette.” She said as she settled herself at the bar and placed her heavy sack upon the floor with a clang of metal.

                “Can’t get enough work as a mercenary so you’re moonlighting as Saint Nick now?” Howard asked, reaching for a bowl behind the bar before thinking better of it and pouring her a drink of beer in a regular tankard. Hearkena investigated the bag and then settled quietly back on the bar top.

                Annemette’s eyes twinkled at his good catch and she accepted the solid mug, dexterously picking it up with her five-fingered paw and taking a drink. “Ooh, I heard you liked to grandstand but this is genuinely the killer diller.”

                Howard slammed his own mug down on the bar with a thump. “OK. First of all you… ma’am… don’t know me. And second of all, why the hell are you talking like a teenage share crop?”

                The Panserbjørne licked the foam off her lip with a slurp. “And have you met enough of us to be able to judge what we talk like, Mr.Stark? Maybe we all speak English like this. Maybe the brave King Brede Byrinson himself speaks like this.” 

                Howard’s laugh of fake amusement wasn’t up to its normal platinum quality. “I suppose the better question would be “why the hell are you here?”

                Annemette sighed in lament. “When you get to be as old as I am you’ll appreciate the anticipation of a slow, thoughtful build up more.”

                The inventor froze, dumbfounded. Hearkena rolled her eyes and hissed with impatience, “she’s not talking about sex, Howard.”

                Fur fluffing with a jolt of amusement, the bear sobered before answering. “I did not come from Svalbard. I have been exiled from there for two years now for reasons which I rightly deserve… and even if I could, I would never return. Your human world has drawn me in too far I’m afraid, and I recently found myself in the curious position of knowing absolutely everything about a total stranger. You and I are of the same breed, Stark- metal smiths.”

                Hanging on to every word despite himself, Howard leaned in grimly. “If you think that you can intimidate me with this nonsense about knowing me, it won’t work… and it just shows what a back water you’re from. They’ve heard of me from Tokyo to the Caribbean. They’d know who I was on Mars. Everyone knows the face of destruction.”

                The great bear sat back, regarding him. “I know that you didn’t watch the footage of Hiroshima and Nagasaki sober, but that in your heart you still think it was the right thing to do. Saving the lives of your people, sparing their families further pain… any honest person would choose the same over strangers. And who am I to judge? I was paid to kill your kind, and for a time it was the best years of my life. Could have done without the heat though.”

                Hearkena had slunk under Howard’s elbows into the space between his chest and the bar top.

                “I know that you found HYDRA’s secret weapon, the Cube. By the way dear, you really should go back and pick that up. I know that you’re up here searching for your friend. It’s another thing that you feel; you know he’s still alive. And I’m saddened to be the one to tell you that you’re absolutely right.” Here she paused, her voice softened even further with compassion. “But, Howard… you’re also right that you’ll never see him again. Not in this life.”

                Howard felt dizzy as he heard his own deepest fears said aloud. All of the emotional blows he’d taken through the war were being replayed in synchronous, indistinguishable horror. He grimaced and couldn’t maintain eye contact with those empathic black pools staring down at him. “I can’t… how, how can you know this?”

                “… Poor Howard… have you ever heard of a device called the Alethiometer?”

*******

                Despite returning from the North with the answers he looked for, Howard came home a broken man.  He took up his responsibilities at the company and went to the parties, and kept up the act. He married his wife Maria because he got tired of having to deal with day to day chores and because it was expected of him. Hearkena and Maria’s peacock daemon, Trulio, never touched each other when their humans made love. He talked to her superficially about the war and about other things, but if she hadn’t been there he would have talked to his workshop walls anyway.

                Howard became richer than god as the years passed into decades, but he never found the peace that the war stole from him. Sometimes when he got up to leave a room he would forget to look behind him before closing the door, leaving Hearkena trapped on the other side. When Maria told him that she was pregnant it was like she was speaking a different language. It was unplanned and beyond his comprehension at the first, and nothing made it more real for him even as he sat in the recovery room with his wife and newborn son.

                Maria lifted her flushed face to look at him. “I know we haven’t talked about names, but… we could name him after your friend, Steve…”

                Caught off guard as he unbuttoned his suit jacket Howard sprang up from his chair like he’d been burned and all the hair stood off Hearkena’s back – two bookends in their affront.

                “No! For chr- you still don’t know a thing about it!” Howard shouted, running a shaking hand over his mustache.

                She flinched, and peacock looked sadly at the pacing cat on the floor. “That’s because you never talk to me, Howard, not really.” On his mother’s chest the baby mewled in discontent and clutched at his tiny snake daemon.

                The new father picked up his daemon roughly and walked to the door. “Don’t do it.” Hearkena whispered, but Howard had never been good at biting his tongue.

                “Name the little bastard whatever the hell you want… but not _that._ ”

                Out in the hospital hallway Howard did not get father than a few angry steps before he jerked to a halt when he felt a paw pressing firmly against the lapel of his jacket. Hearkena did not have to say a thing for him to feel shaky with guilt- but she did anyway.  “And what would _Steve_ have had to say about the way you treated your wife in there?” The cat hissed in admonishment.

                “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter since he’s not here.”

                Hearkena bit his hand hard but Howard barely winced. He was used to disappointing her by now.

                “I lost the only true friend I ever had, and then I failed him. I couldn’t bring him home.” Howard whispered to his daemon, eyes focused far away on nothing as people walked by them.

                “We lost.” The cat licked her sandpaper tongue over the place she had drew blood. “ _We_ lost them, and you need to say what you just told me to her. That’s what he’d tell you.”

                Hearkena sighed as Howard composed himself and continued walking down the hallway. _We’re sorry_ , she thought as she gazed longingly over his shoulder. The cat daemon didn’t speak to her human for a month.   

*******

                The first solid memory that Anthony Stark had of his parents was laying on soft sheets and smelling expensive Italian perfume mingling with motor oil. Of course he had no idea what either of those things were at the time, but his little rabbit daemon stuck her nose in the pillow and committed it to memory.

This pure gem of childhood was later overshadowed though when Tony discovered that his parents rarely even slept together in the same bed. Texomanuspiper, or Pepper as Tony called her, and he were hidden in the linen closet when he overheard the maids gossiping about it. In those early days all they had was each other. Pepper preferred forms that were small and quick –a bat, a dragonfly, a kangaroo mouse- something that would allow her to easily keep up with him, even though they both knew that he would never leave her behind in his haste to explore or get out of the way.

Children are fickle normally, their favorite of anything changing from week to week, and their daemons reflected this by shifting frequently whenever it suited their fancy. Tony’s mind was so far in the clouds when he was six years old that Pepper had a veritable rolodex of forms that she would cycle through with his mood changes. After seeing pictures of a long-nosed bandicoot in one of his mother’s trendy fashion magazines Pepper changed into one with strawberry blonde fur and rode on Tony’s head like it was a crow’s nest on a pirate ship. She liked to wrap her paws in the thick brown strands of his hair and tug gently like she was pulling on the reins of a horse.

He pointed out this comparison to her one day and she tittered. “No, no. If you were the daemon, you’d be more like a stubborn donkey than a horse.”    

He had his lessons with his tutor, his nanny tucked him in ever night and then Pepper would crawl under the door as an ant and check to make sure the hall was deserted before they slipped out to his father’s work shop. He was obsessed with all the hero worship a little boy was capable of, of that mysterious, very scary man in the suit who never talked to him during the day, but tolerated his quiet presence in the garage at night.

Maria never sat with Howard when he worked on his creations at night anymore, and Hearkena would sometimes be there, sometimes not. Tony always looked for his father’s svelt black cat, and it always made Pepper shiver when she was nowhere to be seen. The older man would always drink while he was working, though he would rarely get drunk. On those nights, Howard never raised a hand to the boy, but he talked, and shouted. Fantastical things that made Tony’s imagination soar like the lark that Pepper would always become until Howard started yelling at her.

They learned to sit quietly if they wanted to hear tales of flying through enemy artillery at night, a rowdy group of men that were expert at breaking even the sturdiest of Stark technology, old armored bears, and a hero who wore red, white and blue. Tony waited until one of these nights before pressing his luck and asking who this Captain America was.

Howard told him everything, and it was the only time Tony ever saw his father truly happy – reliving those memories. Tony was too young to be bitter yet at that though, but he hurt every time Pepper would turn into a kitten only to be rebuffed or ignored by Hearkena. “I don’t think they mean to be mean.” Pepper would console him with whenever they finally had to sleep. And sleep was not such a hard ship since he mentioned an interest in Captain America to one of the maids and was gifted with the complete set of comic books that her son had grown out of. He kept them under his bed and they were his most treasured possessions. At night he would often dream of being along with the fearless hero on his adventures fighting Nazis. Sometimes his father would be there with them in the dreams.       

Tonight Howard had deconstructed a car engine. All of the parts were organized on the table, laid out on a grid so they could be put back together correctly. He was already having trouble standing without wobbling before Tony even came down, so Tony stayed on the stairs to watch. Howard wandered around the space aimlessly, bumping into things and then standing still and becoming distracted with a blank spot on the brick wall. He shook himself out of one of these trances, looked around, and with a cry of anguish upended the metal table with all of the painstakingly laid out parts. They clattered onto the ground and rolled everywhere, and yet Howard zeroed in on Tony’s gasp above the cacophony of a thousand metals parts coming to rest on the floor.

“YOU.” Howard growled, and Tony could have run, but instead he walked down the last few steps. Once he was there, Pepper clutched tight in his arms as a petrified little common possum, the older man didn’t seem to know what to do with him. “This is why I can’t have you around, always breaking things… CLEAN UP THIS MESS!” He mumbled and stiffly made his way out of the workshop.

Pepper didn’t move again until Howard’s footsteps were long distant. Regretting abandoning him when he needed her, she turned into a bumble bee and placed one of the tiniest screws back on the table. “No.” Tony choked out, “that’s not what he meant.”

“What did he mean then?” Pepper asked as she landed on his ear, desperation to be forgiven in her voice.

“He wants us to put it back together.” Tony did just that, working through the night and the next day undisturbed when none of his keepers thought to look for him down there. The pair of them had watched Howard manipulating these parts enough to recognize how they fit together. Tony understood the metal and Pepper remembered the way it had looked originally. So with her second pair of raccoon hands making up for his youthful incoordination they rebuilt the block engine by supper time.

When Howard and Hearkena came down to the workshop that night they expected to be stepping on loose nuts and bolts, or maybe at best an untidy pile of parts where Tony had swept it. Howard was so full of regrets that the way he treated his son was just one more thing to feel guilty about… and never apologize for. What he was not expecting was a reconstructed engine block sitting on the floor. It was unsoundly elevated with a trashcan, two thick mechanics textbooks, a wrench propped against a table leg, and a bottle of whiskey. Just high enough off the stone floor that a little arm or a littler daemon could manipulate the underside.

The inventor walked around it a couple times, looking at it from every angle and for purposes looking exactly like a cat investigating a new piece of furniture. Hearkena brought him a penlight and they peered into the interior together; four pairs of expert eyes giving it a critical evaluation, and finally Howard sat back on his heels.

“He did a perfect job.” Hearkena said, as her human absentmindedly stroked her back.

Howard couldn’t argue with that. If his lips twitched at all if was because her tail had brushed his cheek, not because he felt any warmth of pride for his flesh and blood. “Looks like it runs in the family.” She said.

And that did make Howard grin. “Of course, he’s a Stark.”

“Are you just realizing that?” The cat asked, patiently.   

Howard didn’t reply but he took more of an interest, albeit distantly, in his son’s development after that. 

*******

                When Tony was six he built his first integrated circuit. He had seen the book on photolithography sitting on his father’s workshop desk and gone to find his own copy. After the episode with the engine Howard had had one of Tony’s keepers collect a box of spare parts from Howard’s completed projects and give it to him for him to tinker with.

                Tony had pulled out all of the miscellaneous metal sheets and coils of wire; spread them all over his bed, initially categorized together by what he thought they were from sight. Grease got on the blue satin sheets as he positioned himself to be able to reach all at once. After dropping a magnet in his lap Pepper turned into a firefly and alighted, lit up, on his shoulder.

                “What are we going to do with all this junk?” Her voice was insect-soft.

                The dark haired boy bit his tongue in concentration and moved the magnet over the different piles of metal. Metals that the magnet attracted he moved onto his right side, metals that stayed still when he passed the magnet over them he put on the left.

                “This is a plate of cast iron.” Tony said, tapping a two pound black slab on his right. The firefly looked on without comment. She trusted Tony to know what he was talking about, her human spent all his time with his nose in a book or elbow deep in a machine and he was a sponge when it came to retention of knowledge. Sometimes she read along with him whenever he was immersed with any of his technical interests, or lend a second pair of hands as a raccoon, but mostly she observed the comings and goings of their surroundings. Tony would get so absorbed in whatever he was doing that she had even started answering questions directed at him, and it pleased the both of them to no end that everyone found this highly unsettling. It was a societal taboo that daemons rarely addressed a human other than their own directly. Howard had neither the time nor the concern to correct them on their behavior, and no one else bothered either. 

                “These others are also ferromagnetic so they must be tin, cobalt, nickel and steel.” Tony tapped the magnet against his lip. “And these that aren’t are aluminum, silver, brass and copper.”

                “What about that one?”

                “Oh, that’s silicon.” Tony replied dismissively, as if the question was too easy. He grinned authentically though when Pepper glowed more intensely for a pulse in pride.

                He wound up ruining four kitchen pots and two burners on the range of a very expensive stove trying to melt down the metals and remold them. Howard did deign to ground him for that, but Tony was unfazed… as long as he had his books, there was nothing interesting to him in the outside world at all.

                When his mother asked him what he thought he did wrong in the kitchen he replied “It wasn’t hot enough.” At least Pepper was amused… not that anyone could tell it from looking at her. Tony was not an ill-behaved child, he just did not see the need to answer to those whom he already considered himself smarter than. So for the sake of their self-preservation, Pepper at least had perfected her innocent poker face since Tony refused to care. Usually a repentant-looking, however fallacious, daemon was enough to let them skate by the worst punishments.

                “There has to be a way to create the silicon monocrystals without getting defects in the crystalline structure of the semiconducting material.” He told his mother one night as they ate out at one of their regular dinner spots in New York. Tony ordered from the menu in French and his mother had smiled at him. It was the best thing that had happened the whole month.

                “That sounds like something Howard would say. Have you been working with him?” Maria looked preoccupied as usual, but Trulio looked up hopefully from where he sat perched on the back of her chair. His iridescent feathers shone in the candlelight of the restaurant and his long teal and purple tail dusted the marble floor. Pepper sometimes took the form of a peacock to try and impress them but the dull brown, slow moving form was not one of her favorites. Now she was in the form of a Jumping Spider, sitting inside a piece of rigatoni pushed up on the rim of Tony’s plate.

                Tony shrugged, pushing food around on his plate.

                “Your father is just busy.” Maria tried to console, taking a sip of white wine. “Would you like to hear about the foundation’s latest work?” She chatted away through the rest of dinner, always talking to her son like an adult and expecting adult answers.

                When their driver dropped them off at the front door she opened her arms for a hug, and he wrapped his arms around her waist gently. The black sequins in her dress clung to his face and he made sure to hold her loosely enough so as not to muss her silk shawl.

                “Goodnight Anthony, and be good. I have to go away for a while but I will be back soon.”

                “Where this time?” Tony asked as he rushed to follow her up the stairs. The tip of Pepper’s chipmunk tail brushed against his neck inside the collar of his purple argyle vest.

                “Poland. Raising funds for a scholarship program.” Her heels clicked to a halt when she noticed the torn look on her son’s face. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be back in a few months.” She thought for a beat and smiled at her decision. “Come on!” She said, grabbing his hand and leading them up to her room.

                Tony looked for his father out of habit, but as usual he was not there. Maria sat down at her vanity table and rummaged through the drawers.

“Back of the bottom, left drawer.” Trulio supplied immediately from where he was perched on his stand next to the desk.

“Ah, of course. Thank you, dearheart.” Maria pulled out a slim white box. “Now Tony, I bet you were worried that you wouldn’t be getting your birthday present this year since I’ll be gone… but here, you can have it early.” She handed him the professionally wrapped gift.

His birthday had not actually crossed Tony’s mind at all, but he opened the box slowly and mustered up enough gratitude that Pepper did not even have to remind him to at least look thankful. Tony had learned already to never expect any sort of recognition from his father, though he could not help but try to impress him. His mother on the other hand, absent more than she was present, he at least knew loved him in her own awkward way.

Inside the box sat a silver watch on a cushion. It was solid and expensive-looking. On either side of the face the band featured a glass segment: one with a tiny turquoise feather and the other with a few strands of short black hair. It was a touching gift, a memento from someone’s daemon implying the deepest of loves. Tony knew instinctively though that the black hair was from Howard and not Hearkena. Sentiment was not ranked as something important enough to be given attention to. It was much easier to picture his mother taking a few strands from a comb rather than asking Howard to pluck some from his daemon. It was laughable to think that Maria would take the hairs from the black cat herself. That kind of stuff only happened in romantic story books.  

“I know it’s big now, but you’ll grow into it.” Maria was saying.

That was another thing that Tony did not believe. From his cursory studies in biology he knew his genetic code was a mixture of his parents’, and they were both below average height for their gender. Tony did not expect to top Howard’s 5’8’’. From what little he had seen of his father in business meetings though, the small man was always the one making other men uncomfortable and not the other way around. And despite not being a lion, Hearkena’s black cat stare was perfect for intimidation.

“Do you like it?” Trulio asked Pepper.

The chipmunk nodded shyly. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

Maria smiled, and that did make it perfect for Tony. He put the watch on to show her, but took it back off again as soon as he got back to his room. He did not want to damage it when he tinkered with his circuits.

His mother left the next morning and Tony continued his lessons with his tutors. He gave the watch to Pepper to hold on to, since she was responsible enough to hold on to things like that, and she switched to a Swamp Wallaby and kept it in her pouch all day. No matter what form she took on to try, her fur or feathers was always a glossy strawberry blonde and Tony knew she was the most beautiful thing he would ever see.

One evening in his father’s workshop the older man had been called away by Obadiah to deal with an urgent business matter. Uncle Obie had swept him up in his arms and asked about what he was building while Howard had urged him to get to the point. Obadiah’s Egyptian Mongoose daemon had draped herself around her human’s neck like an elegant black scarf. The two men had left though and now Tony was alone in the room.

Normally he would have gone straight for the forbidden tools: the soldering irons, cutting torches and electric shears. Technically he was not supposed to touch anything in his father’s workshop, only observe, but those were particularly banned from his use.

This time however he went for his father’s paper filing cabinet next to his desk. Howard had begun keeping digital records of all of his work and designs, but he also kept back up hard copies under lock and key. Tony could not have cared less at the moment about something called an Arc Reactor and lifted the rough blueprints out of the way so he could look at the manila folder underneath. He had only caught a glance of it before when his father had taken it out.

The old folder was U.S. an Army issue personnel file, stamped with a final-sounding ‘INACTIVE’ in black and white on the side. Inside there was a stack of grayscale photographs and Captain America’s resolute, handsome face stared out at him.

In some photos he was wearing his iconic Stars And Stripes uniform—the one that Tony had fallen completely in devotion with. One was of him, looking proud, in his brown dress uniform. Other photos featured him standing straight to have his measurements taken. In all of the pictures he was accompanied by his daemon, striking and wholesome-looking herself. Standing at exactly six feet tall, perfectly combed blond hair, chiseled jaw line and muscles on his muscles, Captain America was all that young Tony Stark aspired to be.

“Don’t forget fearless and courageous.” Pepper reminded him playfully, reading his mind. She was just as much in love with the romance of the WWII hero as he was. “Dad always said he was a good man.”

“The best.” Tony agreed, voice full of awe as he ran his fingers carefully over the photos.

The events surrounding the hero’s death, right before the end of the war he fought so hard to win, were mysterious. All of the papers had agreed on only one point: that he was lost at sea after sacrificing his life to save America. Tony never dared try to pry a more first-hand account from his father.

“Would you ever want to join the military, Tony? Like him?” Pepper whispered in his ear.

Tony thought about it seriously as he continued to flip through the pictures. “No.” He finally decided. “We don’t have to be soldiers to be like him… and you wouldn’t like being in the Army.”

She giggled and her striped Lemur tail wrapped around one of his arms. “Well, you are right, I do hate running. But I think you’d also hate following all the orders.” Tony tore his eyes away briefly to grin at her. He was self-conscious about the braces on his teeth around others, so only ever truly smiled at her anymore.

“Captain Steve Rogers. He was younger than Dad!” Tony read. He had always thought of him as older than his father for some reason. 

“What’s that one?” Pepper asked, pointing at a photo paper clipped to the back of the folder. Tony took it out and stared in confusion.

It was another picture of the Captain, but here he was dressed down for PT in Basic Training and he was skinny enough that Tony suspected he could have wrapped both of his small hands around one of his biceps. The back of the picture was dated the same year that Captain America had made his debut.

“This doesn’t make sense…” He said.

“Let’s keep reading.” Pepper suggested eagerly.

They learned about Steve Rogers’ life growing up poor and with worse health in Brooklyn. The scant details about Operation Rebirth that were not redacted filled in the mystery of how the skinny young man had managed to achieve his superhuman abilities. There was a list of accomplishments of the Howling Commandos, but Tony already knew all of that.

“What Dad said about him being chosen for his heart makes more sense now.” Pepper mused. “This Doctor Erskine must have picked him out for some special reason, and it certainly wasn’t his athleticism.” She squeezed her tail around his arm once. “You look a bit like him in this picture, all knees and elbows.”

She did not tease him about his scrawny appearance often because he was so sensitive about it, but there was no way he would take being compared to Captain America in any way as a slight. He hugged her.

“You think I’ll ever be like him?” Tony asked his daemon.

“What? Brave and fearless?” He rolled his eyes at her deliberate misunderstanding but smiled anyway.

She wrinkled her nose seriously and brushed a lock of hair behind his ear. “I think he would say that as long as you are fighting for what you believe in with all that you have, then it doesn’t matter how big your muscles are.”

“I wish we could have been friends.” Tony said, finger on the picture of the scrawny young man. “Steve Rogers, I mean. He’s the real hero. Not Captain America.”

Pepper looked at him so fondly at that that he let himself get distracted in her pride and wistfulness. He did not notice Howard until he was right behind them at the desk. Tony’s blood ran cold at having been discovered, and Pepper switched to a mouse and scurried down his shirt as fast as she could. Slowly, Tony turned around. He had never seen his father so angry.

The older man, greying at the temples already, looked like he was barely breathing as he stared at the folder clutched in Tony’s bone-white hands. With an abrupt motion he tore it from his son’s hands and threw it against the workshop wall. Tony yelped as it slammed and sent papers and pictures flying everywhere.

“You vile little piece of garbage!” Howard shouted down at his petrified son. “Going through my things!”

Hearkena was pacing in agitated circles on one of the work benches, but she kept herself aloof from the proceedings.

“You’re good for nothing, Tony!” He never raised a hand to him, but he kept yelling. “Your obsession with Captain America--” he slurred the name with derision “—is pathetic. You will never be good enough for him!”

Howard strode away, picked up a half-full tumbler of bourbon from earlier in the evening and downed it in one swallow. He struggled to compose himself, and sighed when Hearkena came to him. “I want you away from here. I’m sending you to boarding school on Monday.”

Shocked, and on the verge of tears, Tony remained standing where he was. He could feel Pepper trembling against his collarbone inside his shirt.

“What the hell are you waiting for? Get out of here!” Howard bellowed. Tony ran up the stairs two at a time and did not see his father again before a driver and his French tutor dropped him off at the boarding school.


	4. Phil Coulson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The very early days of Phil Coulson. Actually, it's mostly pre-Phil Coulson, but essential plot-oriented details about his father (whom I was imagining as a slightly more laid back version of John Reese from person of Interest).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aah, bear with me, Phil is coming. 
> 
> Or, if you want to skip over this bit (totally would not blame you) the short version of the chapter would be: Phil is born, meet Phil's strange family of mostly Witches, the history of Phil's Dad being a badass, Nick Fury is a shady sob, some things about dust that hopefully make sense. That's really it. 
> 
> And I apologize for the formatting. I have no idea what's going on with that.

                Phil Coulson was born was born in Nome, Alaska on December 24 of 1972. It never got above freezing that day, but Marny Idasdotter walked through the labor pains back and forth on the huge front porch of the family’s log home. Truthfully the cold didn’t bother her at all because she was a Witch. The race of magical women from the north were aware of the cold, but it was harmless to them. She waddled back and forth in a thin, flowing nightgown and bare feet that kept getting covered in snowflakes blown up with the same wind that kept whipping her long brown hair about. Matching her every move, and lending his strong arm in support was her husband, Eric Coulson. Unlike his wife, Eric was bundled up in a fur-lined parka and heavy pants with snow boots. The tall man loved the north and his wife, but he had to dress for the weather. He was only human after all.

                A Red Kite and a white Andalusia mare watched their humans from inside the warmth of the house. Also inside the large log cabin were the couple’s four daughters: forty-two year old Dagny from an earlier dalliance of Marny’s, sixteen year old Ansfrida, and the ten year old twins Hillevi and Suvi. The house was cheerfully decorated for the Winter Solstice and some of Marny’s own clan-sisters were staying with them for the celebration and birth. All in all it was a very full house, with Eric being the only human male for miles in any direction… and considering Marny’s track record so far no one expected that to change with the newest addition to the family.

                Completing a lap Eric took Marny’s arm as they turned around and walked past the dozen branches of cloud pine leaning up against the front of the house. The ladies had begun to trickle in in small groups days before, gliding to a graceful landing upon the porch and resting their magic branches against his house. And the cabin was Eric’s house, for the witches owned nothing. They accumulated nothing through the years except owed favors and debts to be repaid, trading anything else they needed over their extraordinarily long lives. In fact, Eric and Dagny were the same age, although she still looked like she was in her twenties while on a good day Eric felt he could pass for thirty if he turned on all the charm.

                When it was time for Marny to lay down Eric would have followed her into the bathroom where she had elected for a water birth in the tub but there wasn’t even enough room for all of the ladies to begin with so he was hustled out. Traditionally witches gave birth in lakes, but Marny was the one who insisted on the change that on the off chance that the baby was human she did not want to be giving birth in a frigid lake. Nothing could have kept him from her side when she called for him though, kicking one of the younger witches out to make space for him, and they shared a private smile before he watched as his son was delivered into Dagny’s arms.

The competent woman attended her midwife duties with pride and warmth. Witches had children rarely enough that each birth was really a familial occurrence, but it was even more special since this was her mother and new baby brother. Despite the prejudices of the times when she grew up Dagny had wanted nothing more in life than to be a doctor, and with the backing of her Clan she was able to attend college for medicine. She combined her knowledge of Witch medicine with what she learned of modern drugs from medical school, and now despite her relatively young ago for a Witch she traveled amongst the clans, healing what she could. Now though, the soft light made her warm chocolate skin practically glow as she smiled with instant fondness on her healthy infant brother.   

                The baby boy cried and was wiped down, the afterbirth taken care of; wrapped in homemade blankets and a little knitted hat with a duck embroidered on the side. He was handed to his mother and father just as his blind puppy daemon swirled into existence next to him in the crook of his father’s arm. Just as with Ansfrida and the twins, Eric felt his heart stutter as he looked on the calm face of his son. He noted with some surprise that his son’s daemon was also male. The witches had lores upon lores about why someone’s daemon materialized as the same sex as them, but it was generally accepted that there was something special about those who did.

                Thora, the eldest of the witches present and clan Queen, said prayers over the boy and requested Mother Eve to keep him safe from harm. After 692 years of experience she had found it harder and harder to break with tradition, but even she had not been able to say no to the soft-spoken man that Marny had fallen so deeply in love with. Where the witches were fierce and unforgiving, he was the gentlest soul that she had ever met. At first she viewed this as a weakness and thought that Marny would soon tire of her disposable toy, but as the years went by she saw him for the invaluable ally that he was. For he had sired and helped raise some of the brightest young witches of the clan… among his other, less talked about accomplishments. Even though her love for him took Marny far away from their ancestral home, as far as Thora was concerned he was as much a member of the clan as any of her witches, and so would this child be.  

                “Beloved, what are you going to name him?” Marny asked as the women moved around them in a synchronized flock to drain the tub and clean her up.

                “I like Philip.” He said, his soft voice like a lullaby.

                “Horse-lover, hmm?” His wife teased.

                “Well, considering what he’ll be doing for at least the next eighteen years of his life he will be.” The moment was broken by an impatient whinny out in the hallway. All of the doors, stairs and passages in the house were built large enough so that Seid, his Andalusian mare daemon, could navigate through without brushing against anyone. She was light enough on her feet that she was able to keep up with the quick-scampering twins with ease.

                “You and your herd of dancing horses.” She teased with years of fondness behind her laugh.

                “You and your flock of magical birds.” He ribbed back.

                “And both of you with children and daemons dying to see their little boy! Go, Erik!” Dagny rolled her eyes at the mushy exchange and directed her stepfather out the door. Dagny and Eric’s relationship could have been awkwardly strained with the strange nature of their matching ages, but he treated her simply as an equal and loved her as family from the start, so she adored him.

                Seid had the advantage in taking up enough room that she edged her way closest to the door and immediately stuck her nose against the puppy’s pink back, velvet brushing satin. “They’re prefect.” She said as he brushed the forelock out of her eyes with the hand that wasn’t holding Phil.

                Marny’s Red Kite, Folkvar, flew over from the balcony railing and perched on Seid’s head in between her ears. “We knew it was a boy all along!” He said, eyes glittering in a smile over an immovable beak. The raptor leaned down closer, peering at the tiny beings. “Look Eric, he already has your eye corner wrinkles!”

                The new father laughed. “Well if we’re lucky he won’t have your feather-brain!”

                “That’s not nice, daddy.” Ansfrida admonished shyly as she approached them with her recently settled Secretary Bird daemon bobbing along in her shadow.

                “Come take a closer look.” He beckoned, and leaned down to show them. She hesitantly reached out to touch a wisp of his sparse brown hair where it escaped the hat. Ansfrida was used to babies, having helped her parents with the twins when they came along, but even young Withces went through their moody adolescent years.

Although, Eric thought her period of reticence had more to do with the Separation Ritual that she would be undertaking soon now that her daemon had settled. She’d be leaving early in the new year with some of the clan sisters, Marny had wanted to accompany her but that would be impossible with the baby now, and they would fly far north almost up to the pole. There was an ice field up there that was a dead zone for daemons, they physically could not cross the invisible barrier shielding the vast, barren area. When a witch came of age she had to travel there and walk across the ice, leaving her daemon behind and painfully forcing a permanent stretching of the bond between her and her soul. It allowed the Witch and daemon to range far apart from each other and yet still remain connected; and it was a fundamental part of clan life. It did not hurt Eric any less though to think of his precious daughter, his quiet Ansfrida with her daemon that always preferred crane shapes and liked to perch one-legged on Seid’s croup, in any pain. She wanted to go though, and he wouldn’t be the one to hold her back.    

                With a clatter that began in the kitchen, a trail of noises gradually came closer and closer, thundering up the half-log wooden stairs with a clamor that rivaled Seid galloping up a metal gangway. The twins presented themselves, barefoot and covered in powdered sugar. Hillevi with dark brown hair and Suvi with auburn, but otherwise their freckled faces were perfect mirrors of holiday delight. Their respective Partridge and Turtle Dove daemons were suitably reflecting their excitement at the season. 

                “Have you two been keeping out of trouble?” He asked his daughters skeptically.

                “Yes, daddy!” They giggled, and laughed even harder when Seid bowed her neck to blow a gusty breath at them and playfully ruffle the feathers of both of their daemons.

                “Hmm, are there any sugar cookies left for the rest of us?” Folkvar asked archly. Never has a bird of prey been so taken with the vanilla treats than the witch’s raptor. Marny had never had them before she met Eric, but when Eric had discovered that Folkvar was enamored with the taste he baked them for him all the time and now always carried some in his pocket for whenever the bird would seek him out independent of his wife. Those times became impromptu adult male bonding opportunities and though Folkvar was his wife’s soul he had his own distinct personality that was playful and blunt.

                The girls puckered up sweetly at that and their daemons clucked innocently. Warm, homey smells of cider and fresh herbs wafted up through the open loft; the chatter of voices and occasional flap of wings seemed to lull Phil right to nod. 

                “Look at your new little brother. His name is Phil.” Eric told the girls and they crowded close, daemons flapping to steady themselves on their skinny shoulders. “So, what do you think?”

                “He’s so tiny!” Hillevi gasped, pointing in awe at the little pink nose.

                “What color are his eyes?” Suvi asked.

                “They’re hazel, just like Mom’s.” Eric said, pulling the cap down a little farther on Phil’s brow.

                “Is he warm enough? Humans need to be kept warm!” Hillevi exclaimed, all pink cheeks and earnest concern. “Daddy, are _you_ warm enough?”

                Eric laughed. “I’m fine, little birds. Why don’t you go hug and kiss your mother?”

                “Goodbye Phil!” Suvi whispered, as they dashed off to do that.

                Christmas Eve dinner that night became a more complex affair than anticipated. The new parents did not want to leave Phil alone in his crib, and Marny was still sore enough to allow herself to be mother-henned into staying in bed. So Thora had made an executive decision and had Marny and her bed and Phil in his crib moved downstairs into the enormous dining room with the tall Yule tree.

                The witches had decorated the interior of the house in their style of natural ornamentation like felled branches de-twigged and lashed together to make stars and effigies of the Yule Goat. At the beginning of December Eric, Seid and Folkvar had gone into the Alaskan woods, already covered in thick snow, and found a perfect downed pine to be the year’s Yule Log. The next day he took his daughters and a team of the horses out during the brief hours of sunlight, and with Folkvar’s uncanny Witch-ability to communicate with regular animals they managed to wrestle the giant log onto the back of the sled and bring it back home. It was now doing an excellent job providing a cheery atmosphere of wood and incense as it burned in the stone fireplace.

                Everyone had chipped in in the kitchen and plates and bowls were passed around freely with daemons flying rolls or thick slices of ham from one side of the long table to the other. Marny laid at the head of the table closest to the fire and Phil, with Eric on her right hand doting on her and making sure she was eating. Everyone talked and even the three girls were seated at the table with the adults. A Frank Sinatra record played softly in the background.

                In the middle of the meal Thora stood up and clanked her goblet on the table to garner everyone’s immediate attention. “I would like to thank Eric for opening his home to us again for this Yule celebration. This year has been made especially blessed by the birth of Philip Coulson, the first clan-son born to us in over a century. May his years be many, and blessed with the peace and wisdom that grace his father.” There was a chorus of agreements as all the ladies drank and Marny leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek. 

                After dinner the ladies cleaned up so quickly that Eric swore there had to be magic involved somehow, but he could not catch any of them doing anything as overt as making the sponges soap the dishes themselves. The huge wood table was cleared away and then there was music and dancing. Outside the floor to ceiling windows it was pitch black except for the ambient starlight of an unpolluted sky, but inside the log walls the warm amber radiance from the wall sconces lit the space invitingly and the bright string lights twinkled like fireflies.

                Thora took up her lyre, and there was a violin and two flutes as well. She started out with a customary slow tune, seven of the witches who were the best dancers coming together in a circle. Their dark silken garments shifting around them as they moved like strands of kelp drifting with the tide.

                Witches generally keep to themselves so habitually that even after living side by side with humans for millennia they were still mostly shrouded in mystery and mistrust. One thing that is widely known though is that they are excellent dancers. Some ignorant folk believe that the witches’ love for dance is evidence of their closer relation to the wild- the supernatural _fae_ elements of the world that still existed and were visible for those who looked with an open enough mind. This was partly true, but the true reason the witches loved to dance was for the same reason they wore such sheer clothing… they loved to feel the aurora on their skin and to feel connected to the Earth. There was no way to feel more coupled with the Earth than dancing on it and feeling the air surrounding moving limbs.

                The first dance was a ritual pattern, slowly crossing legs moving in a circle, gaining in speed and energy as the graceful women landed lightly on the balls of their bare feet and leapt back up. It was a thing of beauty to watch competent dancers who clearly loved the art. Eric sat holding Marny’s hand, watching them as enraptured as they did whenever they watched him perform with his horses. That is what Eric did for a living this far north in the Alaskan wilderness. He bred Andalusia horses and taught them how to dance.

                Behind the main house there was a huge stable complex, each horse with their own roomy stall, attached at one end to an indoor riding arena that covered as much surface area as a medium-sized dome football stadium. The floor had been excavated down to a good clay layer, covered with a layer of gravel and sand, evened with a sheet of lime, compacted, and topped with a layer of sand and rubber grains. Large and smooth enough with enough traction for a good gallop in the winter time, it was also perfect for high impact activities on joints.

                Tomorrow morning before Christmas breakfast he had promised to give the Witches a demonstration of studies he was making with his dancing horses. He only had four resident horses, any others were temporary rescues or those going through training for someone else, but each of them always taught him something new. He had taken up the practice of video recording all of the sessions in the arena and always made sure to write up his notes about patterns and results afterwards, so he had years of data that he had been compiling on the dust. From time to time the thought of submitting his preliminary studies to the scientific community crossed his mind, but he always decided against being put in the spot light.

                After college and a five year stint overseas with the Marines the introverted, very private, man had returned to his home country with renewed passion but more physically adrift than he ever remembered feeling. With no living family to turn to for a welcoming home they kept moving, sometimes a car with a trailer for Seid, and sometimes she carried him cross country where there were no roads. Always north though, there was something like a magnetic force that tugged at them until they reached Alaska. The magnificent expanses and sheer size of the unsettled wilderness renewed the passion and focus that he had rediscovered somewhere in the wilds of Korea. He knew what he wanted though, so he and Seid took their time getting to know the land, finally building their home in Nome.

                Due to a rather unique heritage passed down in his family Eric had been fascinated from a very young age with daemons and what they were made of. Daemonology was a legitimate academic field these days, but it had more to do with why daemons settled in the unique shapes and color variations that they did and what that could reveal about their human’s personality. Eric was more interested in what daemons are. What they were made of and why they came into being for Humans and Witches but not the Panserbjørne- the third sentient species on the planet. To that end he majored in physics during his undergrad and was excited to continue studying particle physics in graduate school, but everything changed just after graduation when his parents were murdered.

                Seid had settled relatively late during his freshman year at college in Boston, but he was enamored with the form she had taken and never had felt more harmonious with himself. The two of them discovering how to ride together was one of the best periods of his life. That all changed when he received a call from a detective in his hometown sadly informing him that his parents had been found murdered in their own home – his father beaten to death, and his mother shot through the heart. Their beautiful daemons had already been long dissolved by the time police got there. The house had been torn apart and the detective called it a home robbery gone bad.

                That first week he felt like his life was falling down around his ears. The area was snowed in and he couldn’t catch a flight out to go home. He lost the focus that had always come so naturally to him before, the knowledge and answers abandoned him and Seid’s restless heartsickness threatened to drown them. He wasn’t even overly distressed when he came home from a brief trip to the corner store to find his apartment completely trashed with even the floorboard ripped up. It was the attempted kidnapping that finally seemed to shock him out of the daze he had fallen into.

                After another night of fruitlessly trying to sleep they’d given up and gone to take a walk down by the water. They made the mistake of not paying attention to their surroundings and did not notice the truck and trailer following them until Eric was being grabbed from behind and having a bag shoved over his head. He heard Seid call out his name and the clatter of her hooves on the sidewalk intermingled with the threatening growls of other daemons. Tall and gangly with a runner’s build, Eric thrashed wildly and struck out at the arms trying to pin his hands. “Seid!” He cried when he heard her whinny in pain, and it felt like his own chest was getting ripped open by sharpened claws.

                Over all the commotion though the noise that rang the loudest was the scream of a raptor echoing off the brick buildings as it dove out of nowhere and ripped out the eyes of a Mastiff daemon. The man holding him let go with a cry of agony and Eric tore the bag off his head to be stunned by the number of bodies already down. Judging by the caved in chest, Seid had kicked one of the five men into submission. Another was kneeling over his Akita Inu daemon who was winking out after having her throat slashed by sharp talons. One was behind the wheel of the truck and the last Eric tackled before he could bring his nightstick down onto Seid’s ribs. He took an elbow to the side of the head and a knee to the stomach before he managed to push the other man up enough for Seid to knock him off to the side and angrily trample him. His jaguar daemon vanished to dust in mid leap from where she was jumping for the raptor.

                The truck door slammed closed and the engine kicked into gear. Adrenaline pumping through him, Eric hauled himself onto his daemon’s back and she sprang away in the opposite direction. The white horse ran down narrow alleys, flew over fences and dashed through parks, finally trotting to a halt at their favorite lecture hall on campus. It was abandoned now in the middle of the night, and the night was quiet except for them as they caught their breaths. Seid’s muscles twitched randomly and she craned her neck around to nibble at his shoe nervously. A shadow crossed in front of the moon and Eric flinched as he looked up.

                It was clear to see now that it was not moving so fast that it was a blur that the raptor was a vibrantly plumaged Red Kite, and he landed regally on the bike rack next to them. “You’re alright.” He said, head straight and attention zeroed in on them.

                “I, yes… thank you.” At a loss for anything else to say, he defaulted to at least being polite. Seid and the bird regarded each other silently. “…Where is your human?”

                “She’s far away from here.” He replied curtly. “But I can tell you that those men who accosted you were professionals, they meant to take you alive. You’re in great danger and you don’t know how to defend yourself.” Here he cocked his head thoughtfully. “You should do something about that.”

                Emotions still high, Seid snorted in affront and took a step forward as Eric tightened his grip on her mane. “We can take care of ourselves!” _Seid killed that man…_ he thought to himself.

                The bird preened a wing nonchalantly. “Well, apparently you can’t. After all, you should never hit a man with a toupee. You should hit him with a tire iron. And then use your bow to shoot him full of arrows.”

                “I don’t have a tire iron… or a bow.” Saying that at least sounded better than choking on his own spit while getting insulted by a solitary daemon that had just saved him from kidnappers.

                The kite cocked his head to the side. “Hmm, you seem like a man who would appreciate a good bow.”

                Seid shifted on her hooves uncomfortably and something about the surreal turn the night was taking broke through the ice of Eric’s grief. His thought process meandered into a dead end of ‘ _what the hell?...’_ and he said “I am, but my favorite is barebow.”

                 Throwing his head back the raptor cackled with genuine amusement, moonlight glinting off his curved beak. Eric got the distinct impression that if his rescuer were a cockatoo his head crest feathers would have been perked upwards in delight. “Well, call me a sparrow, I thought you were straight as an arrow!”

                Eric could not help the eye roll at that, but Seid was at least calmed down enough to dryly comment, “Stop, you’re making us quiver.”

                All of the raptor’s body feathers fluffed out with amusement. “ _You_ need to survive long enough until you can grow up and become really interesting.” And with that he took off, quickly vanishing over the tops of the buildings.

                At a loss for what to do with his life now that it was quite obviously in peril he took the mysterious daemon’s advice seriously and joined the Marines. It seemed like the perfect way to lose himself, keep busy and learn something practical at the same time. The first thing they did was get out of Boston. Four days later they were at a Marine recruitment center in New York City and were accepted under a false name.

That necessary focus snapped back into place when he didn’t have to worry about anything other than following orders. They learned how to defend themselves and learned not to ask certain questions. Three years later Eric was off the front lines in Korea and working as a Counterintelligence Specialist where he never gave a wrong recommendation. In fact he knew more than should have been possible for a relatively low level officer. Though he was smart about hiding how he knew these things, it did eventually attract the attention of someone who went on to make his life a living nightmare.

*******

Nicholas Joseph Fury was working as a CIA operative at the time that Eric was in Korea, and frankly it was the lack of missions he was being sent on in the theater of war that attracted his attention. He became obsessed, really. It was easy to figure out from Eric’s commanding officer just who the brains of the operation was, and he stayed up all night reading the associated Intel reports. There were no overt holes that could not be reasoned away in the face of a complete success, but the explanations into how the intelligence was obtained were somewhat lacking. Fury did not like holes.

“I don’t like it.” Alessandrazz, his Ghost-Bat daemon, said from her place on the nightstand as she finished reading through the last of the papers.

“It looks like goddamned Swiss cheese!” He agreed, throwing a folder down on his motel bed with disgust. “This Lieutenant Eric Coulson is either a double agent, or the luckiest goddamned guesser in Intelligence.”

Alessandrazz walked over to him on the delicate fingers of her wings and he stroked a distracted finger down her grey back. “Or, maybe he’s just that good.”

“Nobody’s that good.” Fury snapped, glaring over his steepled fingers. “He’d have to be a psychic, or have a magical fairy godmother with a crystal ball…”

The bat tucked her wings back and arched a hairy eyebrow at her human. “You cannot possibly be suggesting that this kid has _it_ let alone knows how to work _it.”_

“Well Ale, if you have any other explanations I’d love to hear them.” Fury said, taking his eye patch off and rubbing out the indentations on his bald head left by the elastic. Every time he was annoyed it seemed to grow tighter and tighter until his good eye started twitching from all the stupid. 

She nodded thoughtfully. “ _It_ was never found after the death of Ginger Coulson and her husband… and neither was the Coulson’s son.”

“Most recent reports have the son either kidnapped by or in collusion with the Russians – their Intel and mission success’ have increased suspiciously recently.”

“And ours have not except for here… in Korea.” She concluded. “And no one here has a brain cell among them except for the kid.”

“And he’s exactly that… a damn kid. He’s twenty-four years old, he shouldn’t know a thing, but he seems to be an expert on what is going on here in Asia.”

“Well I guess he just asks the right questions. Although, I wouldn’t suggest confronting him until we know for sure.” Fury shot her a look that could have frozen a Panserbjørne. “Well, you were a soldier first, not a spy.”

Fury’s method of gathering more information about his new mark would have constituted as stalking in about seventy-seven different countries, and it was long to pay off. As usual Ale was indispensable, small and quiet enough to follow close and remain unnoticed… and their ability to separate from each other over long distances also greatly contributed to their effectiveness in the field of espionage. They watched Eric at his work where he was professional and had a sort of insightful intelligence that was well beyond his years. They watched him when he and Seid walked back to the barracks and relaxed in their down time where they were boring. Riding, reading and generally avoiding interacting with anyone else on the base. The man and horse were none the wiser to their shadows though.

This was kept up for two weeks until Fury had to break and go visit the man he hated most, Doctor Berthold Sternberg, to receive the Infinity Formula injection that he needed in order to remain alive and youthful. Ale remained behind in Korea and Fury took the long trip to France by himself. As always his thoughts on the plane all revolved around killing the man who had carelessly and callously saved his life. Nearly twenty years ago now during the second Great War he had stepped on a landmine in a poppy field in France. He would have died there, on his back looking up at the sky through a tall forest of red flowers, but then _he_ came. Sternberg had nursed him back to health, and while he was still delirious and unable to defend himself or even comprehend that there was a threat he had to protect himself from, the man had used him as a lab rat. To Fury’s quite literal eternal regret, it had been a complete success.

The terms had been clearly explained to him before he had been released. He had to come back for bi-yearly injections of the serum in order for him to remain in good condition and ageless… and he had to pay for it. The alternative was a painful death, and Fury would never give up that easily. So he paid and bided his time until he could find some way to replicate the serum himself. Ale never came with him partly to keep on with whatever their mission was at the time, but mostly because she just could not stand to see him yield like this. Even at such a distance though he could still feel the nauseous roil in his stomach that was her complete feeling of repulsion.

He tolerated the situation because there was no other recourse, and it was only temporary. Every other waking moment that was not spent on an assigned mission he spent trying to track down some doctor or scientist that would be able to break down and replicate the one vial of extra serum that Fury had lifted from Sternberg’s lab. After nearly two decades though, there was still no one with the insight to help him and he was getting desperate. It was Ale who finally suggested that they try more creative methods of finding answers.

By the time he got back to Korea his mood had devolved from dark to sucking abyss of a black hole. The doctor normally liked to remind Fury of the power he had over the man as he took his payment, but Sternberg had been particularly intolerable this time. Ale at least had some interesting news, although she waited until night to flutter to meet him when he came back to their room. “They never have answers on the spot. There’s always a delay of at least to the next day, sometimes even several.”

Fury was halfway out of his shoulder-holster harness, but when he heard that he shrugged it right back on. “I’ve had enough of this shit.” Ale flew to him, tucked under the collar of his long coat at the back of his neck, and he tore the door open and stalked back out into the night. Dead-end after dead-end, every time he could not help but raise his hopes only to have them denied at every occasion. The last scientist who had promised him a solution and then failed like all the rest, Fury had lost all patience with and beaten until he felt the bones of his face crack and the man’s Grasshopper daemon was directly begging him for mercy. He knew he was a predator, but he was also unwillingly leashed, and it was pushing him faster and faster to do things that his younger self would have been repulsed at. Now he could not bring himself to care.

“Eric Coulson is an honorable soldier.” Ale reminded him, his quiet conscience riding at his neck. “So were we once.”

“If he’s a soldier that can follow orders he won’t have to be hurt.” Fury said, stopping on the corner opposite a shabby-looking motel in Uijeongbu. The establishment catered to middle-income people with large daemons, providing a small hotel room with bathroom and adjoining stall in the back comfortable for daemons as large as elephants. It was where the US military put their officers who had daemons that could not fit into the officer’s quarters, but the only American currently staying there was Fury’s target.

Ale flapped to the window of the correct room, peeking in, and returned. “He’s asleep. Daemon is asleep at the back of the stall.” Fury went ahead without a second thought, quietly picking the lock and stepping into the black room. His eyes were already adjusted to the darkness and he spotted a handgun on the nightstand. The target was sleeping on his back, unclothed except for a pair of light sleep pants. 

Eric did not wake up until Fury came within five feet, but before he even opened his eyes he was already reaching for his weapon. Amending his original plan of quickly gagging and restraining the man, Fury grabbed his wrist and slammed it hard against the side of the nightstand, using his weight to keep it there and sweep the gun out of reach onto the floor. The younger man kneed him in the side of the ribs as Fury attempted to pin him to the bed with his legs, and they both wound up on the floor.

There was a clatter on the other side of the thin wall, and then the sounds of a very angry horse trying to break down the door between room and stall that Ale had just nudged locked. Dwarfed by the horse, the bat distracted her from just powering through the wooden door by flying around her head, using sharp claws and teeth to swipe at her eyes.

Going from asleep to wide awake immediately Eric got in three good head punches now that he was on top before lunging to the side for the gun. Unbeknownst to him though the CIA had recently issued their field agents one of the first top-secret versions of the stun gun. It did not have enough electrical charge to paralyze or knock out an adult, but it shocked their nerves enough that the victim would be completely discombobulated for about thirty seconds, which is more than enough time for any agent to complete incapacitating someone. This was what Fury jabbed up into Eric’s chest with a bit more viciousness than was strictly necessary.

Falling to the side with a startled gasp Eric’s limbs twitched in pain and Seid cried out his name from the other side of the door, falling silent after her own cry of desperation. Ale had finally clawed Seid’s face enough times that the mild sedative painted onto her claws began to take effect  on the horse daemon’s large body and she wound up stumbling into the wall instead of continuing to try to break it down. Her drowsiness hit Eric at the same time the panic did when Fury rolled him onto his stomach, roughly tied his hands behind his back and hobbled his ankles with a short rope.

Wiping the blood off his face, Fury backhanded the young man and gagged him. Dragging the wooden chair over for himself he set it in front of the man on the floor and took a seat. “Now look Eric, I know all about you and your little secret… about how you’re getting your intelligence. You learned it from your mother, and she learned it from hers. I’m not working for the North Koreans or the Russians, and I’m not gonna ask you to betray your country; in fact I’d go so far as to say that you and I are on the same side. And I’m not looking to expose you, all I want is the answer to a pretty simple question. So, I’m only going to ask this kindly once… are you going to answer my question?”

Unable to reply, Eric gave him a defiant stare as the feeling gradually began to return to his arms and legs. The blood never got back down to his hands since they were bound so tight.

Fury made a displeased face and rubbed his lips. “See, _that_ look right there implies to me that you are not in the mood to spare yourself a world of needless pain and just cooperate now. I’ve laid it out for you, but now you’re just being stubborn cause your pride’s been hurt and you want to make a point about yourself. See, the way it stands, I’m feeling positively invited to change your mind about the spirit of cooperation.” With that he got up and walked into the adjoining bathroom. All Eric could hear as he struggled uselessly with the bindings was the sound of a lot of running water.

When Fury strolled out his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he did not even look for a change of mind, just hauled Eric up under his arms and dragged the struggling man into the bathroom. The deep claw-footed tub rusting and left over from the age of imperialism was filled up nearly to the brim when Fury shut the water off. He positioned Eric’s chest on the edge, got behind him and without and preamble or warning shoved his head down into the filled dingy tub.

The water was freezing and what little air Eric had in his lungs to begin with was shocked out of him immediately. His mind, and the brief torture-resistance training that they gave intelligence officers, told him to remain calm and still but the first time he made the reflexive mistake of inhaling and got a sinus full of water he panicked. Thrashing got him nowhere, the men were of equal height but Fury outweighed him in muscle by fifty pounds and it was easy for him to lean all of his weight on Eric’s shoulders and keep him pinned there.

Just when his throat became the only thing he could focus on and dots of light began to float across the insides of his closed eyelids Eric was pulled out of the water. Fury dropped him on the dirty bathroom floor and watched dispassionately as his captive coughed and sputtered around the cloth gag. As soon as Eric’s breathing evened out Fury heaved him back up and did it again. He repeated it eight more times, Eric’s struggles starting and ending sooner with each round. On the last Fury jerked the gag down with a finger. “I can do this all night, Eric.”

“W-wait.” Eric coughed as Fury took a step forward to loom over him menacingly. His tightly bound arms only allowed for shallow breaths but he took them. “I don’t know anything. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Fury sighed theatrically in disappointment, but he really was _pissed_. Even though he apparently had all the time in the world, it felt like he was on some sort of self-imposed deadline where if he did not find a way out soon he would lose either his sanity or his soul. After all of the roadblocks and false hopes over the years; two decades spent dealing with Sternberg’s abuses and threats… and this kid had the gall to make him wait even longer for relief. Fury lived up to his name.

He put the Lieutenant through another session without pity, but he never lost his temper enough to be in danger of forgetting himself and actually drowning the kid. Killing him would have been crossing the line, but anything up to that he could find acceptable; his patience was over, he was beyond caring and Eric just had the bad luck of being the last possible salvation of a man possessed.

When Fury finally gave him a break a half an hour later there was water all over the bathroom floor and both of them were soaked. Eric was so exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open but he said “They’re gonna send someone to find me when I don’t show up at command tomorrow.”

“Today actually. Probably in about six hours.” Fury replied, checking his watch. He crouched down next to Eric. “You really think you can take six more hours of this?”

“Please, don’t hurt my daemon anymore.” Eric said, head resting heavily on the floor.

“Son, I don’t want to hurt your daemon. All I want is an answer. I understand that you’re trying to protect yourself, but it’s not worth it. Once you tell me what I want to know, you and I are done. So don’t torture yourself.”

“… What’s the question?” Eric asked by way of an answer.

Fury had nothing to lose by telling him now. In order to keep his own secret Eric would never tell anyone that anything happened tonight anyway. “How do I replicate the Infinity Formula?”

“What’s the Infinity Formula?”

“Does it matter?”

Eric blinked water out of his eyes and waffled over his reply. How he responded here would determine how the rest of the evening played out. On the one hand, he was more terrified of revealing his secret than he was of this man who could easily kill him. This could all be a ploy just to get him to let slip where it was. On the other hand was his life, and there was no rescue coming for him. He could feel that Seid was panicky and in pain, still heavy with the sedative, and it was up to him to get them out of this.

“…Yes. It does matter. I need background specifics to ask the right question.” His heart pounded, hoping he made the right decision.

Fury seemed oblivious to his internal turmoil, but offered easily enough “It’s a serum developed by Doctor Berthold Sternberg that ensures eternal youth if treatments are kept up.”

“Lying about it isn’t going to get your answer any more than t-torturing me will.” Eric spat, tired of being pushed around and toyed with. Fury was unimpressed.

“I’m not lying, kid. Haven’t you heard of Captain America, national hero of the most recent world war? The Super Soldier Serum? Do they not cover that in Military Intelligence anymore?” Fury said animatedly, his one eye narrowed in annoyance.

Despite how much he was shivering from the cold water on his bare skin, Eric felt himself flush hot with affront at the familial tone in his attacker’s voice. “You just did– and now you’re trying to have a civilized conversation with me?”

The one-eyed man looked at him like he was crazy. “Don’t take it personally.” When Eric remained silent he switched back from incredulous to impassive. “Are you going to humor me, or do I need to fill up the tub again?”

“Fine.” Eric said softly, playing long with the crazy seemed like the best option. “So an eternal youth potion… what’s this Doctor Sternberg like?”

“Evil, opportunistic, unrepentant, brilliant.” Fury replied without hesitating.

Eric’s eyebrows rose as fast as they were able with the numbness in his face. “Okay… and I know what kind of a man you are—“ He got distracted as Ale fluttered through the doorway to land on Fury’s shoulder. He could see the blood on her delicate claws.

“Tired, desperate, remorseful, resourceful.” She finished for him in her soft voice.

“Right. Well, this is the part where I need my hands and my daemon.” Eric said, realistic enough to be resigned to want this to be over as fast as possible.

“OK.” Fury agreed without any prevarication, cut the rope at his ankles and untied his wrists.

When he first attempted to stand Eric’s oxygen deprived muscles did not hold him and he collapsed the couple of inches that he had managed to lever himself up. Turning his face away from the standing man he tried again and with shaking arms managed to push himself up to hands and knees. His head swam, _ha_ , dangerously as Fury grabbed his arm and pulled him the rest of the way up, supporting him with the shoulder on the side of his good eye. Instinctively Eric’s eyes darted to the other man’s shoulder holsters. He wasn’t planning on making a move, but they were both empty anyway. “Come on, soldier.” Fury said, practically carrying him out and dumping him on the bed.

“You sound like you’ve said that before.” Eric was not curious enough to really care, but what else was he supposed to say.

“I was a soldier once. Where is it?”

“What are you now that you’d treat a b-brother in arms like this?” Here Eric hesitated, knowing it was futile but needing to draw it out to feel like he was at least putting up a little resistance. “Saddlebag.”

Fury brought the light leather bags back from where they were stacked neatly in the corner without further comment. He unlatched them, took out another handgun, some MCI rations, a spare uniform shirt with a black and white photo of a couple in the breast pocket, round canteen, compass, curry comb, knife and wallet. He set the gun aside and briefly inspected the compass. “Well?”

Past the moment of turning back Eric held up his shaking, empty hands and slowly reached for the canteen. “I need my dae—“ Fury was already dragging him out to the stall in the back and Eric had a death grip on the canteen.

Seid glanced up when they came out, but didn’t move from where she was laying with her legs tucked under her against the stall wall. Drugs affected daemons unpredictably, but Eric could clearly feel her sleepiness and faint nausea as he sat next to her and leaned against her back. Normally Seid slept with him, if not in the bed then right next to it or he would put his sleeping bag on the ground and be near to her that way, but it had been a mentally exhausting week and they both decided he needed to sleep in a bed.

Technically he did not actually need her presence to make it work, but she did help him focus and he wanted to be with her. He stroked her neck soothingly, then twisted the cap of the canteen five times and undid a nearly invisible latch on the bottom before it clicked open down the cross-section. Nestled inside was a black silk cloth, and Eric unwrapped it carefully, settling it in his lap and angling it away from Fury. Just from his present state of mind he could tell that he would not be able to give his full attention to the task.

“I need to focus…could you just step back inside.” Fury scoffed. “Really, it’s going to be impossible for me to concentrate while the guy who’s threatening me remains glowering in the same room. I’m not as good at this as some of my ancestors and I need all the help I can get.” He took a breath. “You asked for my trust, now I’m asking for you to trust my expertise.”

With a gentle urging from Ale, Fury went back inside and sat in the chair with his back to the door. It galled Eric a little to be thought of as not a threat, but the truth was despite his above average height he had never considered himself physically imposing. And though he wore the uniform with pride and had the ultimate respect for his fellows in arms, he had never truly considered himself a soldier.

Thinking about familiar things like that helped calm his mind enough to get into the zone of focus and freedom and –

  “Actually, why don’t you just try: What is the chemical composition of the Infinity Formula? That would be more direct.” Fury suggested without turning around.

The interruption was like being jerked out of a nap just as you were contentedly dozing off. “Actually, why don’t you just try to butt out.” He snapped, leaning further into Seid’s neck as a shiver ran through him. To his surprise the man’s creepy-looking bat daemon chirped in agreement from where she hung upside down on the doorjamb. When there was no further commentary, he tried again.

He did try the latest request first. Holding the question in his mind as if he was trying to hold a plucked dandelion and keep all the seeds attached, he set his mind to figure out the answer.

When the silence stretched beyond five minutes Fury turned around to watch. Ale rolled her eyes at his predictability. Seeing the drenched man with his knees drawn up, pressed up against his beautiful daemon and so internally focused to the exclusion of everything else made him look ridiculously young, and Fury was suddenly and violently disgusted by himself.

Many of his assignments for the CIA, when he had been sent out to stalk or kill the monsters had been for lesser offenses than torturing and terrorizing a kid barely out of college. “He’s a soldier, he’ll get over it.” He muttered, not needing Ale to tell him how baldly he was lying to himself. He had seen men on the killing fields of Europe, stronger and older than him at the time, break at the things they saw and did in the war. Fury could sense a mile away that Coulson had none of the killer instinct that hardened men to endure things like this.  Ale swooped to his shoulder.

“He may not be a soldier, but he has a strong heart. You didn’t break him, though you most certainly alienated a very valuable future ally.” She whispered to him. “Do you think it was worth it?”

“If he gives us an answer, yes.”

“What if we had just asked for his help weeks ago?”

The only response Fury had to that was unsatisfactorily immature even to himself. “…I don’t feel at a stage in my life where I’m comfortable asking for things nicely.”

“Ah, so you’re in the ‘torturing children’ stage then?”

“I’ll do anything I have to in order to get us back some goddamned self-respect!” He growled.

“And to hell with anything between you and that?” Ale asked sadly.

“Yes. It’s almost over, one way or another.” Fury sighed, rubbing at his eye under the patch. “Why are we talking about this now? We’ve done worse things than this before.”

“None of our other targets have ever made me root for _them_ over you.” She said honestly, climbing his bald head to nudge off the tight elastic strap and place her little furred body over the empty socket.

Shock was not an emotion Fury was accustomed to anymore, but instead of the burn of betrayal he felt almost proud of her.

The next hour was spent in silence, and just as the noises from first pre-dawn vendors began to filter in from the surrounding streets Eric cleared his throat.

“The composition question was too complex. I’m not good enough to be able to interpret percentages of drugs that I don’t even know the names of. I did find how _you_ can find out though.” Eric paused to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Fury made an impatient ‘yes, and?’ motion with his hand.       

“Break him.” At Fury’s incredulous stare Eric continued. “There isn’t anyone alive who can replicate it from scratch. The only way you are going to get it is from him, and he will never tell you willingly, so you have to break him.”

Fury was already shaking his head. “He’s crazy. Insane. He won’t break from anything that I do.”

Eric was getting agitated that he had to suggest it for a second time. “Look, you’re just going to have to get creative. It’s possible to do this, but this is your only option.” He felt Seid’s head bump gently against his back in support and added “…I’m sorry.” The first things Eric had asked were what this man’s name was, and who is he?

When he deciphered the facts about Nicholas Fury, honorable World War II veteran and current master spy for the CIA, he was only a little surprised to find he had been telling the truth about the Infinity Formula. Beyond that, he probed deeper into the situation with Sternberg, and actually sympathized for what Fury had had to endure all these years. He had started out as a victim.

Something of his feelings must have shown on his face because Ale, in a rare moment of unconscious cruelty asked teasingly, “Stockholm Syndrome setting in already?”

Getting up, Fury came to loom over him. “So you’re telling me I have to beat it out of him?”

“Yeah, something along those lines. You shouldn’t have a problem.” Eric replied, eyes hard.

“Well, if you don’t see me again, then you were right.” Fury was gathering up his things, putting on his coat and the flippant unconcern in his easy movements was enraging. Eric just willed him to leave faster, but Seid’s sudden tensing behind distracted him.

“If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you myself!” She growled vehemently, sounding more like an angry tiger than a horse.

Fury’s good eyebrow shot up but all he said as he walked out the door was, “keep yourself safe, Eric Coulson.”

Eric had enough energy to reseal the canteen and drag a blanket off the bed to throw over the two of them. They dozed where they were until the alarm went off an hour later and cleaned themselves up enough to crawl to their post.          

   The encounter had rattled him, but that did not last longer than it took for the drugs to stop affecting Seid and for him to work up the courage to take a bath. He did move back on base though, so he and Seid slept in one of the supply depots where the extra cots were stored. What did wind up sticking with them though was the pervasive and encompassing feeling of _wrongness_ in their lives. Almost overnight normal things like writing reports felt too intolerable and pointless, and he avoided talking to people because he honestly did not care what anyone said but still cared enough not to want to make others uncomfortable. Most of all though, he just wanted to go home.       

  After four more months where all he could think about were snow covered mountains and rolling green hills to gallop over he decided to retire. His superiors and coworkers tried everything they could to convince him to stay, but mentally he was already long gone. Eric had just celebrated his 25th birthday, but he felt old. “Mature and unflappable.” Seid liked to say. They certainly knew what was important now.

                Coming home their plane was held over in Spain so they had the chance to explore, if not the desire. It was either that or hang around at the airport though, so they went walking through the old stone streets.

 It was the first time in a long time that Eric thought about his fascination with the dust again, but he couldn’t avoid it when they watched those horses practicing with their handlers in the arena. When Seid had settled they had immediately looked up her specific breed of horse and knew it was Andalusia, but they did not _understand_ what that meant until they saw them in person. Trotting sideways in a quick step, prancing in place, holding a rear on two legs and then hopping, going straight from standing to leaping into the air – the coiled and released energy was almost a visible thing, and it was clear in the animals’ intelligent eyes that they were enjoying the athletic movements.

                One of the trainers looked up and was startled to see another Andalusian outside of the sand ring. He and his horse trotted over and he fired away in quick Spanish. “Woah, woah! Ah, sorry but ah… no hablo español?” The trainer looked disappointed as his Chameleon daemon stroked his thin mustache unconsciously from her place perched on the shell of his ear. He finally shouted something back to his companions and they beckoned all of them over. Erik and Seid looked at each other and she shrugged before leaping over the chest-high fence. He climbed over not quite as gracefully after her.

                When they stood in the center of the ring, trainers with their daemons and horses loosely circled around them there was silence. Someone’s Red-Eyed Tree Frog daemon ribbeted loudly and everyone laughed. “They all look a bit jealous.” Seid whispered to Eric quietly, hooking her chin over his shoulder.

                “Bailar!” A man with a Crow daemon exclaimed and everyone else effused their agreement. Eric shook his head in confusion and the man tapped the leg of his horse who immediately pranced in place. “Bailar!” He said again, pointing at the two of them.

                “I’m pretty sure he wants us to dance.” Eric commented. “You think you can make these moves?”

                She turned slowly to look at him with one black, mischievous eye. “You think you can hold on and not embarrass us?”

                The light, Calvary saddle the Marine Corps had issued them was back with Eric’s duffle on the airplane, but they still kept up bareback practice on their own. Eric got settled on her back, winding his hands through her military-short mane and leaned over her neck. “This is all you, love. I’m just along for the ride.” Her excitement and love for him embraced him like a hug, and without warning she turned on her haunches and broke through the circle to the area of open space.

                Daemons are constrained to the physical abilities of the animal form they settle in except for intelligence and capacity for speech. The way she moved around the ring though made them look more akin to a single being made entirely of liquid and propelled by wind. So used to each other’s motions and weight after over two decades of partnership he could anticipate her shifts in balance by feeling the way her muscles bunched and reposition himself to help her achieve more lift.

                At one point Eric was sure that he caught a glimpse of golden dust out of the corner of his eye as she twirled them around. Then to the surprise of everyone the regular Andalusian horses broke away from their awed handlers seemingly with one mind and fell into formation behind Seid. Organizing themselves next to each other in a line they copied her movements as closely as they were able. The dance continued on and soon Eric could no longer ignore the specks of gold he kept seeing as floaters in his eyes.

They were visible first around the moving horses. It began as one or two errant lights, and quickly multiplied into a whole cloud surrounding their bodies, but most concentrated around their chests and hooves. Some caught in their manes and tails to illuminate them like they were backlit from a sunset. Several winked in the air where there was nothing else, blinking in and out like fireflies. Then, when Eric thought to look down at himself, he was so shocked that he almost let go of his death grip on Seid.

It looked like he was riding a beam of light instead of the strong, white back of his daemon. The dust in the air, or the air in the dust, shimmered out from the two of them like a shower of glowing confetti. It ebbed and flowed with their movements, but he could not feel any heat or light emanating from it on his skin. He chanced passing a hand through a strand of particles quickly, but the tips of his fingers passed right through without affecting it. There was only the barest tingle of static electricity, but that could have been a combination of imagination and shock.

She swung around, neck dipped in an elegant curve and he caught a glance at the handlers. All of them were standing still, dumbstruck enough that it was obvious that they were seeing the same light show that he was. The thing that stood out the most about them though was that each of them was connected via a bright thread of softly undulating particles to their daemon. It was especially obvious between a man and his fox daemon sitting at his side.

Eric could tell that Seid was nowhere close to tired yet, her muscles still moving smoothly without jerking, but he also knew that the dance was coming to an end when she slowed her steps down with some deliberately drawn out lunges. The dust returned to a state of invisibility as all of the horses slowed down with her. Finally she stood still, coming to a halt before the standing men. She shook her head, forelock tumbling down, and seemed to rouse from a trance. Blinking hard, their bond let him share her state that felt like the pleasant high that comes from repetitive, hard physical labor. But what they just did was anything but repetitive, it was spontaneous and natural, and they had never done anything like that before in their lives.

There was silence for quite a while as everyone seemed to absorb what they had just experienced and understand it. Then the man white the Chameleon daemon gave a soft, lilting whistle and his horse trotted over to him. She held her tail up like a banner and seemed proud of herself as she let him pat her neck. The others followed her lead and soon Seid and Eric were standing alone again, his legs moved with her ribs as she breathed deeply. He had never been so confused and so clear sighted at once before.

“Tu alma baila bien.” The man with the Fox daemon said, reverence in his smooth voice as he kept looking between Eric and his own horse.

“I think I’m the _alma_.” Seid chuckled and stretched one foreleg out straight, nose down to touch ground as she gave the men with their daemons and their hooved dancing companions a bow.

“Let’s go back to the plane, beautiful.” Eric said, and she readily trotted away, jumping the fence and perfectly navigating back the way they came. He slipped off her back when they were alone again and they walked together in silence trying to take in what just happened.

 Seid finally remarked “… I think that it all has to do with energy.”

                “What?” He asked, unable to read her mind despite them being parts of each other.

                “Everything.”

                “You mean, the dust?”

                “Yes. Absolutely everything. Those horses were practically glowing with kinetic energy when they danced, and when they were still their muscles were still humming with potential energy. At least a minimal amount of energy goes into creating inanimate objects …”

                “Imagine if we could see it all the time! See the way that energy moves through systems…” Eric exclaimed, suddenly inspired as he had been back in college. Seid clattered to a halt so quickly that her hooves gave off sparks on the cobblestone street. They looked at each other and both felt like idiots for not thinking about it before. “As soon as we’re someplace safe.” Eric said over Seid’s “We should be asking _how_ we can see the dust.”

                “Yes.” He said, and she continued on a roll now. “It must be present all the time! I mean, daemons exist all the time, and despite being solid we’re not flesh and blood, we don’t bleed! So the dust that makes us must be present all the time, and not just when we can perceive it at birth and death!”

                “Shh, shh, shh.” He whispered, stroking her neck to calm her down and not attract attention. The truth was that he was just as excited as her though.

                Her ears perked up as something occurred to her and she sobered immediately. “Eric…” she started hesitantly. “My name, Seid… tell me what it means again.”

                It was an odd question, because she certainly knew the answer already, and it was one of the things he kept closest to his heart, but he humored her. “The Norse goddess Freyja was supposed to be a seer, and she created a type of divination that involved focusing one’s thoughts so intensely that a trance-like state could be achieved and questions about the truth and the future could be seen with clarity. She called it _seid_.”

                Eric felt like he was grasping at something that was just beyond his mind’s reach. It was a thought as evanescent as thinking about the Universe. You could try to think something that goes into infinity, imagining countless billions of stars and galaxies stretching out forever. You could think about travelling through space, heading in the same direction forever and never hitting a wall, or would you travel in a circle and eventually wind up back where you started? You could try to think about how it began, but then you would be faced with the question of how everything came from nothing, and even if there was always something there… then where did that come from? After a while your brain wants to stop thinking about it because there are no answers to satisfy the curiosity. That is what thinking about her name felt like. It was a knowing that was too big… and it scared him.

                The very knowledge that more often than not the first word out of a baby’s mouth, or their daemon’s mouth if they spoke first, was the daemon’s name was a terrifying reality that most people just chose to not think about because of the implications. It suggested that everyone was born with an innate comprehension of themselves and their souls. And where did _that_ knowledge come from?

                “Maybe the more important question then, is where do the names come from?” Eric replied tentatively.

                Seid looked as scared as he felt. “Should we ask that? Do you really want to know? Not to conceitedly blow this out of proportion here… but this could change everything. Do you want that responsibility?”

                Eric was horrified at the very idea. He had been raised by his mother to use his gift, but to keep a quiet, low profile for his own sake. He didn’t want to make the presumption of being responsible for the whole world, but at the same time… “Before we were soldiers, we were scientists. We were scientists first… we aren’t going to be able to forget about this just because I don’t ask the question, right?”

                “Hmm. How about a compromise of small steps. Ask what the dust has to do with dancing, that’s harmless enough.” She suggested. “You look nervous…” Her soft horse lips snuffled at his hands.

                “… What if we find out that the secret to life is the Lindy Hop?” Eric asked, half serious but holding back a manic sort of smile.

                Seid laughed. “Well, I suppose if that’s the case we better invest in a trampoline for me!”

                The first thing they did back in the states was go home to visit his parent’s graves. It was spring, the trees were blooming with electric-green buds and the only family he had ever had were six feet under in the thawing Colorado dirt. On the simple gravestone there was a mink and a raven engraved. The raven was in flight beneath his mother’s name, and the mink underneath his father’s, sitting up and looking over her shoulder at the raven. He cried for his parents for the first time, and then sat with his back to the cool stone and told them about his plans for raising horses and studying the dust that was such a big part of their lives _before_. He knew his mother would have been fascinated to hear about the link with the dancing. He asked his father if he would have been proud of him for following in his footsteps, scientist and soldier.

                As much as he sometimes wanted to, he knew he couldn’t abandon the family calling. It would be irresponsible when there were people out there he knew he could help. His mother had always told him though that it was not about helping people so much as helping the world. Truth did not belong to just one person, even if they were entitled to it. The school of thought that there are always multiple truths was just that, thought. His naiveté had been stamped out early on about that… there was only one truth, multiple ways of perceiving it, but there was only ever one answer no matter how you asked the question.

                It worked itself out in the end though, and here he was at the stiffer end of the prime of his life surrounded by family and extended family during the holidays. He could not have asked for anything more out of his life.

                Eventually the evening celebration wound down, he declined to partake in the dancing festivities himself in order to sit with Marny and Phil. At one point Suvi had crawled onto his lap and fallen asleep with her head on his chest, and now as everyone was yawning and taking the last sips of their drinks he took the twins up and put them to bed. He helped Marny get resettled upstairs, Phil sound asleep in her arms after waking up and feeding earlier. Laying with her until she fell asleep he then crept down to his study and closed the door behind Seid before turning on the lamp. She hooked her head over his shoulder as he settled himself behind his desk. 

                In his large wood desk there was a hidden compartment underneath that would have put most bank vaults to shame as far as security went. Besides blending in with the old wood and having a safe-life interior, Marny had also placed charms on it that would allow no one except for the two of them to even see that it was there. Someone else could be staring right at the spot under the desk, but their eyes would just slide off the side and it would not register that there was anything there. He opened this compartment now and gently took out a battered old military canteen. Opening it on the seam at the side he placed the contents on the smooth surface of the desk and leaned the light closer to the Alethiometer. 

                  The shiny golden metal disc gleamed as he picked it up. The size of a teacup saucer, it fit comfortably in his hand and was surprisingly dense. He unclasped the delicate latch and lifted the lid up. Inside resembled a compass superficially, the inner workings were protected by a clear glass dome and the gears on the bottom could be seen. In between all of that though were four needles, three bronze of varying degrees of thickness, and one slim silver needle with a crescent on the fulcrum end. Around the edges of the gold casing inside the glass were thirty-six miniature hand drawn pictures, each inside a box of equal size. Some of the symbols were: sun, marionette, bull, tree, baby, helmet, Madonna, cornucopia, globe, horse… each of them with a thousand different meanings.

                Eric Coulson thought about his son and manipulated the dials to move the three bronze arrows into place over the baby for future, the anchor for hope, and the thunderbolt for fate. The device could not predict the future, but when it came to questions relating to the dust itself it came uncannily close. None of his daughters could work the Alethiometer despite his lessons and patient guidance. Whether that was because they were all Witches or not was impossible to say, but Eric wanted a reassurance that with Phil he would have a chance to pass the priceless knowledge on. The knowledge could be taught, but even then it took decades of concerted diligence to be considered a master and it still helped to have a natural knack for it.

                As he held the question lightly in his mind the slender silver needle began to swing around erratically. Gradually it slowed down and then began to pause over certain symbols. First on the beehive, then the serpent, and finally the cauldron, then it repeated through them. Taken alone each of the returned symbols was meaningless, but when interpreted together they gave a complete answer. The beehive was family and support, the serpent was usually taken as an ill omen of evil but when looked at in conjugation with the cauldron it more likely symbolized natural wisdom since the cauldron in turn could represent achieved wisdom.

                While Eric was not as masterful a reader as some of his ancestors, the most famous and accomplished of which being his great great great grandmother Lyra Silvertongue, he had enough skill to acquire relief that this was as good an answer as he could have hoped for. According to the Alethiometer his son would be surrounded by those who loved him, and had a natural understanding for the Alethiometer that would only become more profound with practice.

                Eric sat back in his chair, Seid’s chin coming to rest on top of his head as she nibbled at his hair.   
“I’m worried.” She said.

“Cauldron also means tragedy.” He nodded, grim. All of the times his own life was put in jeopardy because of the Alethiometer did not bear thinking about.

“And the serpent also symbolizes deviant sexual practices…” Eric craned his neck back to look his daemon in the eye incredulously. She chuckled and blew air through his hair “Sorry, sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood there, worrywart. Today is supposed to be a happy day.”

He smiled, stroking her nose. “You’re right.” Locking everything back up and turning off the lights, they made their way back upstairs. Before climbing into bed Eric stood over his son’s little crib and took another look. “Welcome to the world, Phil Coulson.”         

*******

 


End file.
